


Tara Firma

by RedxxWolf



Series: Tara Firma [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Cheese, Drama & Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Ghoul Sex, Love Confessions, Love Triangles, Oral Sex, Romance, Smut, Unrequited Love, slow burn/not so slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-08 14:14:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 76,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11083290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedxxWolf/pseuds/RedxxWolf
Summary: Sole Survivor (F) ends up in Goodneighbor after coming out of the vault.  A bit of a love triangle with Hancock and MacCready.  Extremely, unabashedly cheesy and fluffy.  Unedited first draft, sorry for any typos.





	1. Gallantry's Last Bow

Scarlet kept running, the sound of bullets whizzing past her head. She should have known better than to approach a group of strangers, but she was getting desperate. The last folk she ran into back at Drumlin Diner were friendly enough, pointing her in the direction of the nearest settlement. But that was after she had barely talked them out of killing each other over... caps, was it? She knew as soon as she saw the scorched, desolate landscape after she left the vault that this was entirely different from the world she had come from. Exactly how different, she had yet to learn. And there was definitely a learning curve.

 

Her legs pumped as hard as they could, overriding the pain from the gaping wound on her thigh where a dog had bitten her. It was unlike any dog she had ever seen – a hulking green thing with a vicious disposition. A part of her felt guilt when she shot it between the eyes with her 10mm, hearing a plaintive whimper as it slumped over and died. But there was no time for pity, she surmised. The sun was starting to dip behind the crumbling buildings of downtown Boston, and her sole focus was to get somewhere safe before night fell.

 

Walking up to those people had been a gamble, she knew, but she was having trouble navigating the ruins of the city. Her pip-boy's map was of little use in this new environment. But the moment they spotted her, they pulled out their guns. She took off running, not really caring which direction, just doing whatever she could to escape.

 

A hot white bolt of pain ripped into her shoulder. “Ahh!” Scarlet stumbled forward and nearly fell, but quickly regained her balance and kept going, the adrenaline surging through her bloodstream.

 

She hooked right down an alleyway. The sound of gunshots was growing distant and the frequency between shots was becoming more sporadic. Pausing to catch her breath, she reached her right hand over to her left shoulder. “Ssst!” she hissed as her fingers grazed the bullet hole. The blood on her fingertips was so deep red it was almost a shade of purple. She leaned back against the concrete wall behind her, the sight making her slightly dizzy. Not that she was ever squeamish at the sight of blood. But the fact that it was her own... And she was losing it fast. She had to get somewhere safe and patch herself up before the blood loss became too severe.

 

She squinted through the steel bars and broken windows around her, trying to get her bearings. She removed her glasses and blew the debris off to clear her vision. There was nothing to see, though. Just the skeleton of a city in the dying light.

 

Her pursuers seemed to have given up. Their shouts had faded into laughter as their voices grew more distant. A soft red glow in the distance caught her eye. Mustering what strength she had left, Scarlet headed towards it.

 

* * *

 

 

“Going down to the rail, boss?”

 

“You know it, sister. You comin'?”

 

The strawberry blonde looked up from the dismantled minigun on the table in front of her. “As if you could keep me away when Mags is performing,” she said with a cheeky grin. “Just finishing up with this piece of shit.”

 

“Meet you there.” He walked out the door of the Old State House and pulled out a cigarette, taking a moment to breathe in the cool night air before he lit it. Something about the darkness woke him up inside and made him feel invigorated. As the pleasurable sensation of smoke filled his lungs, he took in his surroundings. The people of Goodneighbor seemed to be just waking up themselves, pouring out into the streets and talking animatedly about the trouble they wanted to get into. He leaned back against the door frame and sighed with satisfaction. Sometimes it was stressful, but he was damn proud to be the leader of this community of degenerates.

 

Some commotion near the front door caught his eye. An unfamiliar figure stood at the town's entrance, small and slightly hunched over. One of the residents made his way toward the newcomer. Even from behind, he knew by the swaggering walk, bald head, and tight leather jacket it was Finn.

 

He was immediately annoyed. Finn was a piece of shit, and that was saying something in Goodneighbor. He was notorious for picking fights, and was responsible for the death of two people that he knew of. Initially, the leader of Goodneighbor had looked the other way. After all, this was a rough place, and most people didn't have a problem putting someone down who had it coming. But after numerous complaints of him harrassing innocent townsfolk, he was seriously rethinking the decision to let this asshole stay here. He knew this confrontation wasn't going to be pleasant, but he stood back and watched, letting it play out.

 

“Hold up there. First time in Goodneighbor?” Finn said as he lit up a cigarette, his imposing frame inching towards the woman. “Can't go walking around without insurance.”

 

The woman stiffened up and stood up straight. Her hand went from awkwardly clutching her shoulder to resting on the pistol in her holster. “Unless it's 'Keep-dumb-assholes-away-from-me insurance, I'm not interested,” she said coolly. It was obviously a bluff, but as he watched this little woman stand up to Finn he couldn't help but smile.

 

“Now don't be like that,” Finn crooned, moving closer. “I think you're gonna like what I have to offer. You hand over everything you got in them pockets, or _accidents_ start happenin to ya.” He reached out suddenly and grabbed her by the throat, eliciting a small but audible gasp. “Big, bloody _accidents_ ,” he growled through gritted teeth.

 

He was done watching the exchange. He'd made up his mind. He snuffed out his cigarette underneath his boot, adjusted his tricorner hat, and strode toward them. “Whoa, whoa, time out,” he said in a calm but authoritative voice.

 

Finn looked over his shoulder at his approach, but held fast to the woman's throat as the man continued. “Someone steps through the gate for the first time, they're a guest. You lay off that extortion crap.”

 

“What d'you care?” He growled, glaring back at him. “She ain't one of us.”

 

He stared right back at Finn, only darting his eyes away for a moment to look at the woman in his grasp. Her eyes, shining through the lenses of her glasses, were wild with a mixture of fear and defiance. Her chest was heaving as she sucked in deep breaths through flared nostrils. She seemed to be frozen – the hand that had once reached for her pistol was balled into a fist at her side. Her other arm was noticeably lifeless, the result of an injury. “No love for your mayor, Finn?” He gave a sarcastic smirk. “I said let her go.”

 

At this Finn relaxed his grip and pulled his hand away. The woman took deep breaths as she stumbled back, her hand darting up to massage her assaulted neck. “You're soft, Hancock.” He forgot about his previous target and directed all of his anger at Hancock. “You keep letting outsiders walk all over us, one day there'll be a new mayor,” he threatened.

 

That was all Hancock needed. He relaxed his shoulders and softened his smile. “Come on, man, this is me we're talking about!” He gestured broadly with his arms, easing the tension that had been building between them. Finn seemed to relax a little, responding with a satisfied grunt as the mayor put a friendly arm around his shoulder. “Come here, let me tell you somethin'.”

 

Without so much as a breath, Hancock reached to his waist and pulled out a knife, sliding it deftly into Finn's stomach.

 

He had no time to react. His eyes went wide as he felt something piercing him deep in his gut, reaching to cover the wound as Hancock slid the knife back out. He fell to his knees, blood pouring through his fingers and dripping onto the pavement. “Now why'd you have to go and say that, huh?” The mayor loomed over Finn's helpless body. “You're breaking my heart over here.” That was the last thing Finn heard before he fell over, dead.

 

The mayor turned to the woman, who for her part had did nothing but watch the scene unfold in front of her in stunned silence. He could tell she didn't quite know what to make of what had occurred, or who the “good guy” was in this situation. “You all right, sister?” he asked with genuine concern.

 

She took a minute to respond, regarding him warily. He studied her, assessing her condition. The pip-boy and the vault suit made her origin obvious, though he wasn't sure exactly how far she had traveled to end up here. The fabric on her right thigh was torn, revealing a bite-wound that went deep into her flesh. The way she kept her hand on her shoulder he knew she'd probably been shot.

 

He couldn't help but think she had a pretty face. Her red hair was pulled back in a ponytail, with several frizzy strands falling out. Her face was round and lightly freckled, tinted red with the first indication of sunburn. A pair of black-rimmed glasses rested on the bridge of a petite, upturned nose. _A cute nose_ , he mused.

 

Then he frowned as he realized what _she_ was looking at. His face, if you could call it that, was burned to shit by radiation. He had no nose to speak of, just a rotting hole in the middle of his head. There was nothing to frame his black eyes, his eyebrows and all the other hair on his body having fallen out long ago. And all that was left of his mouth was a pair of thin, scorched lips stretched over his teeth. He was a ghoul. And this woman looked like she might have just stumbled out of the vault today; he was likely the first ghoul she'd ever laid eyes on.

 

After a moment she seemed to collect herself and responded. “Yeah, I'm all right,” she said, feigning confidence. “Thanks for taking care of him.”

 

He chuckled at her show of bravado. _A tough cookie, I like her already._ But the front she had put up quickly crumbled as she collapsed to her knees, clutching her shoulder even tighter.

 

“Looks like you need a doctor,” he said, stooping down to help her.

 

“I can patch myself up, thanks,” was her strained reply. She looked at the hand he offered and recoiled ever so slightly. It was something the average person probably wouldn't have noticed, but he did. And for some reason he couldn't understand, it hurt him. A lot more than it normally would have.

 

In this posture he could see just how much blood she had lost. The back of her vault suit was completely saturated. “I think you might need some help with this one, doll.” He pushed his reservation aside and grabbed her firmly around the waist, hoisting her up to walk beside him.

 

But no sooner had she attempted to stand than her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she went limp. He quickly crooked his arm behind her knees and swung her up to carry her. “Shit...” he muttered, watching her head hanging back over his wrist.

 

It was only now as he carried her body to the Old State House that he noticed the eyes of the townsfolk all around him. He briefly wondered what they had made of everything that happened, then decided he didn't care.

 

“Hey, Fahrenheit!” He shouted, bursting through the door.

 

She stood up from the couch and shook her head as she watched him coming up the stairs. “Jesus, Hancock, not another stray.”

 

He nudged her aside to lay the injured woman on the couch. He grabbed the towel Fahrenheit had been using to clean her gun and pressed it against the woman's back. “Get the doctor, would ya?”

 

“Not sure how clean that thing is,” she said, picking up her minigun.

 

“Shut up and go get the doc,” he chided. He tried to smile, but she could tell how worried he was. The vault suit and pip-boy were enough to clue Fahrenheit in that this was no ordinary wanderer coming in from the Commonwealth. Hancock had a soft spot for the helpless, and a vault-dweller was just about as helpless as they came.

 

“Don't worry boss, I got it,” she left promptly, shutting the door gently behind her.

 

Hancock's brow knit in concern. He kept firm pressure on the hole in her back, hoping to keep in what little blood she had left. With his other hand he reached up to her neck to check her pulse. Faint, but steady. Her chest barely rose as she took shallow breaths. _A nice chest it is, too,_ he couldn't help but remark to himself. He moved his hand from her neck to her face, gently removing her glasses and setting them on the coffee table beside him. He never got a good look at her eyes. _What color are they?_ He wondered.

 

A lock of red hair clung to her sweat-soaked face. He looked around, as if to make sure nobody was watching him, as he gently brushed it aside, taking a moment to run the back of his finger over her cheek. _So soft..._ he thought. Then the sight of his scarred hand against her face made him pull back. He found the juxtaposition of his rotting skin against hers suddenly repulsive, as if he might damage it in some way just by touching it.

 

He closed his eyes and shook his head. _She's not for you, John._ He sighed and sat back, and waited tensely for the doctor.

 

* * *

 

 

Scarlet blinked her bleary eyes several times, then squinted against the morning light coming through the window. Her whole body ached, and her leg and shoulder were throbbing heavily. _Where am I?_

 

She remembered the guy who threatened her. She remembered trying to bluff her way out of the situation. Then fear when he grabbed her by the throat. And then the man who came to her aid... He wore a black tricorner hat and a red coat, like something out of a history book. She was grateful for his help.

 

But his face... Like a burn victim but worse. No nose and coal black eyes. _What happened to these people?_ She knew better than to say anything. Aside from being impolite, she didn't want to invoke his ire by asking about his appearance.

 

She wasn't sure how to react when he tried to help her. After all, he had just murdered a man, regardless of the fact that he was her attacker. She didn't want to accept his arm. But he grabbed her anyway. And then she had lost consciousness.

 

Her hand flew up to her face. _My glasses..._ She sat up, gritting through the pain as she did, and fumbled around on the coffee table in front of her.

 

“Lookin' for these?”

 

She looked up. A blurry figure held his hand out and offered her glasses to her. “Thanks,” she muttered, and put them on. She tried not to react as he came into focus. It was him...

 

_Where's my gun?_ She looked around frantically. Seeing it on the table, she instinctively grabbed hold of it, but didn't pick it up. She didn't feel threatened, but just wanted to know it was close.

 

“Hey, relax, sister. Nobody's gonna hurt you as long as I'm here.” The man put his hands up and smiled. At least, it looked like a smile. His face...

 

“Where am I?” she asked through ragged breaths.

 

“You're in Goodneighbor. This is my place. Used to be called 'The Old State House' back in the day.”

 

She glanced around at the dilapidated furniture. Empty alcohol bottles and chem containers littered every surface. “Who are you?” she asked, looking back at him.

 

“Mayor John Hancock, at your service.” He removed his hat and, putting it against his chest, gave her a dramatic bow.

 

Despite the weirdness of everything she had gone through, she smiled at his display. “John Hancock, huh?”

 

“Yeah,” he said with a wink. “Maybe you've heard of me? Proud patriot and statesman?”

 

“I paid attention in ninth grade history,” she chuckled. She noted the look of confusion on his face.

 

“What's your name, doll?” he asked casually.

 

She hesitated for a moment, but remembered her manners. “Scarlet... Wolf,” she stammered. _Why did I give him my maiden name?_

 

“Well Wolfie, you gave us quite a scare, lost a lot of blood.” He sat down on the couch across from her. He put his feet up on the coffee table, then put a cigarette to his lips.

 

She studied him as he lit it and took the first drag. The smell was nostalgic. She hadn't smoked since college. But the desire for its familiar scent awakened her cravings. “Can... can I get one of those?” she asked cautiously.

 

He grinned warmly and reached for the pack sitting on the table. “Here you go, sister.” He tossed it to her.

 

She caught it in her lap and pulled one out. Putting it to her lips, she looked for a lighter.

 

“Here,” said John. He leaned forward and flipped a lighter open, igniting it for her.

 

Scarlet gave a faint smile of thanks and leaned forward, letting the flames engulf the end of the cigarette. She pulled back and inhaled deeply, relaxing against the tattered couch. For a moment she simply savored the taste and feel of it, letting herself unwind for a moment.

 

“So,” said John, breaking the silence. “What brings a vault-dweller like you to my little community?”

 

Scarlet briefly wondered how he knew she had come from a vault. Then she noticed the pip-boy laying in front of her. And then she looked down. _My vault suit, where is it?_ She was dressed in a tattered button-down shirt that was a little too big, and a pair of mens' boxer shorts. Realizing that someone had to have changed her clothes, she grasped at the collar of her shirt as if to try to cover herself. “Where are my clothes?” she demanded.

 

“The doctor had to take them off to get the bullet out of your back, and stitch up your leg,” he said casually. She looked down at her leg and noticed the neat stitches criss-crossing her thigh where the dog had bitten her. It was already healing pretty well. “And I hate to say it, but that vault suit is pretty much ruined. You lost a lot of blood.”

 

Her face flushed for a moment as she wondered whether or not he had been there when the doctor undressed her. “I was looking for Diamond City,” she said, answering his original question.

 

He laughed, rather condescendingly in response. “You definitely came to the wrong place, doll.”

 

“How do I get to Diamond City from here?” she demanded resolutely.

 

“You're not goin' anywhere until the doctor gives you the go-ahead. Settle in. You'll be stuck here for at least a week.” She winced as a wave of pain overcame her. He was probably right. She understood the severity of her injuries. “Until then,” he continued, “You can crash here. There's a hotel around the corner, but I don't suppose you have any caps to buy a room.”

 

“Caps?” she questioned. “Is that what you use for money now?”

 

“Damn, sister, you're greener than I thought.”

 

“I just woke up yesterday,” she said.

 

“Woke up?”

 

Scarlet balked at her own admission. She wasn't sure if she should go around telling strangers about who she was or where she was from. After all, at least fifty percent of the people she had met so far had tried to kill her. She was smart enough to know better than to share her life story with the first person who asked. But she could also read people pretty well. Unless her years in stasis had altered her judgment, this Hancock seemed like a safe enough bet. She had woken up in one piece, after all.

 

“I came from vault 111,” she explained, ashing her cigarette and taking another drag. “I was cryogenically frozen right after the bombs fell, I guess.”

 

Hancock widened his eyes. “What? You're pre-war?”

 

“The last thing I remember it was October 2077. What year is it now?”

 

Hancock sat up and leaned forward. He looked her in the eye. It seemed like he didn't want to tell her. “I hate to break it to you, doll, but it looks like you traveled 200 years into the future.”

 

She should have been more shocked, but honestly, after what she had gone through already, this didn't surprise her. Scarlet was level-headed enough to confront the reality of things. This was the world after the bombs. The side-effects of war were apparent. And there wasn't any changing where she was or how she got here. She remembered what she had witnessed in that cryo pod, but pushed it out of her mind, and tried to focus on the present. “Seems about right,” she said coolly.

 

“Look doll,” he snuffed out his cigarette in the ashtray, “I'm not tryin' to tell you your business, but if you just woke up and stumbled out of a vault, you've got a lot to learn before you go runnin' around downtown Boston. With what you've been through, I'm surprised you're not dead already.”

 

“Me too,” she replied. _How the hell did I even get this far?_

 

“I don't know what you've been through, and I know I got no right to ask.” He rose from the couch and adjusted his hat. “But if you want, I can help you get on your feet.” She nodded silently in response. _What choice do I have?_

 

“Well look,” he took a box of mentats off the table and popped a few in his mouth, “I've got some, uh, mayoral duties to attend to. Rest up. Make yourself at home. The doc'll be by to check on you. You get thirsty later, just downstairs is my bar, The Third Rail.”

 

She nodded silently as Hancock turned on his heel and headed out. Just before he got to the door he heard her call out. “John.”

 

_John..._ The way she said his name sent a slight shiver down his back. He turned back to look at her. “Thank you,” she said, her voice full of gratitude.

 

The sincerity with which she said those words almost broke his heart. He smiled. “You're welcome, Wolfie.” He said it as easily as he could. But she was having a heavier effect on him than he let on. He left the Old State House quickly, before she had a chance to read his expression, and tried to put her out of his mind. _Keep it in your pants, John,_ he said to himself. _She's not for you._


	2. The Milk of Sorrow

“Can't say I'm surprised to find you in a dump like this, MacCready.” Winlock gave a digusted look at the room, then spit on the floor for good measure.

 

“I was wondering how long it would take your bloodhounds to track me down.” MacCready played it cool, not bothering to look up from rolling his cigarettes. But inwardly, he was starting to get nervous. There was nothing to keep the Gunner from putting a bullet in him right then and there. “It's been almost three months,” he added, then gave Winlock a smug grin. “Don't tell me you're getting rusty.” Winlock put his hand to his holster defensively, and MacCready moved his hand slowly toward his rifle. “Should we take this outside?”

 

“We're just here to deliver a message,” said Winlock, glancing over at his partner.

 

MacCready snorted derisively. He briefly took off his military cap and ran his hand through his cropped brown hair, then replaced the hat firmly. He stood up casually, but it was enough to make the two men in front of him jump. “In case you forgot, I left the Gunners for good.”

 

“Yeah, I heard.” Winlock relaxed his shoulders when he realized MacCready's rifle was still resting untouched against his chair. “But you're still taking jobs in the Commonwealth. That isn't going to work for us.”

 

MacCready knew he was in some shit. Deep shit. But he did his best to keep his face expressionless, his tone resolute. “I don't take orders from you. Not anymore.” He regarded Winlock's partner wryly, then chuckled. “So why don't you take your girlfriend here and walk out while you still can.”

 

“What?!” said the man, drawing a laser pistol from its holster and pointing it at MacCready. The mans eyebrows dropped into a deep scowl behind his sunglasses. “Winlock, tell me we don't have to listen to this shit.”

 

“Listen MacCready,” Winlock said, stepping in front of his partner defensively. “The only reason we haven't filled your body with bullets is that we don't want a war with Goodneighbor.” He put a calm hand on his partner's arm, gesturing him to lower his gun. He reluctantly complied. “See, we respect other peoples' boundaries. We know how to play the game. It's something _you_ never learned.”

 

MacCready flashed a confident smile and crossed his arms. “Glad to have disappointed you.”

 

“You can play the tough guy all you want. But if we hear you're still operating inside Gunner territory, all bets are off. You got that?”

 

The two men stared at each other icily, neither one wanting to back down. Winlock looked like he was waiting for an answer, and MacCready didn't want to give him the satisfaction. “You finished?” was all he said.

 

“Yeah,” he said with a growl. “We're finished.” He nudged his partner. “Come on Barnes.” Barnes holstered his weapon and followed Winlock, giving MacCready the finger as he followed him out.

 

As soon as he was sure the two men were gone, MacCready slumped back into his chair with a sigh. “Shit...” he groaned. He knew trying to leave the Gunners would be trouble. Goodneighbor was a safe place to lay low, and Hancock had let him hang around as long as he didn't disrupt anything. But now that they'd found him, he wondered how long he could continue to stay here under the Mayor's good graces.

 

He looked at the empty glass in front of him. _I need a drink_. He left the VIP room in the back of the Third Rail and rejoined the bar.

 

The air was thick with cigarette smoke and the smell of booze. Soft neon lights cut through the haze, but the bar was otherwise dimmed. The focal point was the brilliantly lit stage where Magnolia, the Third Rail's resident entertainer, crooned a jazzy tune in front of the house band. It was just past sunset, and the energy was just starting to ramp up. Most of the seats were already full and clusters of people stood around, mingling and ordering drinks.

 

MacCready took one last look around to make sure the Gunners had really left. He didn't want to dull his senses with whiskey if they were around. He scanned the area with a practiced eye. Years spent behind the scope of a sniper rifle had made him nothing if not observant. The room seemed to be free of threats to his satisfaction, then he headed to the front of the bar to get Charlie's attention.

 

“Hey, Charlie!”

 

The Mr. Handy acted like he hardly noticed, but nevertheless mozied his way to the end of the bar where MacCready stood. “What'll it be, MacCready?” he said, annoyance obvious in his robotic voice.

 

“Whiskey. Make it a double.”

 

Charlie mumbled something under his breath as he went to fill MacCready's glass. As he waited for his drink, something on the staircase caught his eye.

 

Descending through the clouds of red and purple smoke was a woman, one he hadn't seen in Goodneighbor before. She was wearing a flannel button-down and some loose-fitting jeans. Nothing spectacular, but MacCready was struck by how pretty she was. Her ample breasts were clearly noticeable, and even a tato sack couldn't conceal the graceful curve of her hip. She had wavy red hair hanging down her back and a pair of glasses perched on a button nose.

 

He hardly noticed when Charlie set the whiskey down in front of him. He just kept staring as she cautiously made her way into the bar. “Hey Charlie,” he barked before the robot could leave. “Who's she?”

 

“Another stray the Mayor picked up. A vault-dweller,” he said, before scuffling off.

 

Then he noticed the bulge around her left wrist – probably a pip-boy. Her skin was pale, only slightly reddened by a recent sunburn. Definitely not your typical wasteland wanderer.

 

She looked around hesitantly as she came in. She seemed to be searching for someone, probably Hancock, but he hadn't made his way to the Rail yet. MacCready immediately wanted to run up to her and get her attention, but his mouth went dry and he swallowed hard. _Why am I so nervous? It's just a girl,_ he chided himself. He took down the rest of his whiskey in one gulp and drowned his apprehension, then pushed his way through the crowd to meet her.

 

She looked up, startled, as he appeared before her. “Hey there,” he said, standing close enough for her to hear over the din, but far away enough not to appear too threatening.

 

“Hi...” she said cautiously.

 

He smiled and spoke with easy confidence, trying to lower her defenses. “Are you Hancock's new friend?”

 

She didn't quite know how she was expected to respond. “Yes...” she said, more of a question than an answer.

 

“I'm a friend of his too,” he said. “Name's MacCready.” He took off his cap and extended his hand to her.

 

She eyed him for a moment, taken aback by the sudden show of manners. It wasn't something she had expected to see much of. He wore a scrappy leather duster that was missing a sleeve, the arm covered by his army green undershirt. He was a young man, but had the scars on his tanned face that told a story of hard living. A groomed goatee framed his mouth, and his face was accentuated by his high, chiseled cheekbones. _Handsome..._ she thought. Carefully, she reached out her hand to grab his.

 

“Wolf,” she said. She noticed how most people seemed to go by their last names.

 

As he grasped her hand, he gracefully turned it in his and raised it to his lips, giving it a gentle kiss. Taken aback by the sudden chivalrous gesture, she pulled her hand away and blushed wildly. “The bar's over here,” he motioned, smiling over her awkwardness. “You want a drink?”

 

She nodded silently and followed him as he led her over. Before she even got there he had found an empty barstool for her and pulled it up, motioning for her to sit. “Thanks,” she said, hoisting herself onto the stool. She winced a little as she used her left arm to steady herself. MacCready noticed the discomfort, but Scarlet was quick to smile and disregard the pain. She didn't want to show any signs of weakness.

 

An aging Mr. Handy hovered over to her. “What'll it be, miss?” he asked in a cartoonish Cockney accent.

 

“Umm...” she put her hands in her lap and looked down. “Sorry, I don't have any caps.”

 

“Get the lady whatever she wants,” MacCready interjected. “Put it on my tab.”

 

“You mean the tab you haven't paid in three weeks?” Charlie said tersely.

 

“Shut it, you old scrap heap,” MacCready snapped back. “Get whatever you want,” he said, looking back at Scarlet.

 

“Uh, whiskey?”

 

“Comin' right up.”

 

MacCready grinned at her order. “You're a girl after my own heart.” She blushed again. She was sure her face was as red as her hair, but if MacCready noticed, he didn't let on. “Get me another one too, will ya Charlie?” he said as he waved his glass in the air.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” huffed the robot as he went off to get their drinks.

 

Scarlet looked around timidly. “Is Hancock here?” she asked.

 

“Not yet, but I'm sure he'll be around. This is his place, after all.”

 

Charlie returned with two whiskeys. MacCready promptly took his in one gulp. Scarlet, attempting to keep up appearances, followed suit. He looked impressed until she started coughing, making a sour face, then he burst into laughter.

 

“Ughh, what is this, straight gasoline?”

 

“I'm sure it's not as good as the stuff you're used to in the vault, but it does the trick.”

 

She nodded, the familiar warmth of alcohol beginning to spread through her. It was a pleasant sensation, and helped dull the pain of her injuries. “Wait, how do you know I'm from a vault?”

 

“Word spreads fast in Goodneighbor.” He pulled a cigarette from his breast pocket and offered it to her. She accepted it, then he took another for himself. “Then there's that,” he gestured to her left arm, the bulky pip-boy obvious underneath her shirt sleeve. “That's like walking around with a billboard.”

 

“Yeah,” she leaned in as he lit her cigarette, “But this doesn't seem like the kind of place where it'd be safe to take it off.”

 

“True,” he said, taking a long drag. “What do you think of the Commonwealth so far?”

 

She shrugged. “It's definitely changed over the past 200 years.”

 

MacCready arched an eyebrow. “200 years? You've been around for that long? The years have been kind to you.”

 

She smiled shyly at his compliment. “Not exactly. I was frozen that whole time. Just thawed out yesterday.”

 

“Damn!” He let out a slow whistle. “This is probably a pretty big shock for you, ain't it?”

 

“Mhmm.”

 

“You should talk to Daisy while you're here. I bet you two would have a lot to talk about.”

 

“Who's Daisy?”

 

“She's the ghoul that runs the discount store in town.”

 

“Ghoul?”

 

He hesitated for a moment. She seriously didn't know what a ghoul was? Hadn't she seen Hancock? “Yeah... you know, they got the burned faces, black eyes, raspy voices?”

 

“So there's a name for their... condition?”

 

“I wouldn't go around calling it that but yeah, I guess. Most of the ghouls you see -” he gestured around the bar, which Scarlet noticed contained quite a few ghouls, “- they were alive when the bombs fell. That's what turned 'em ghoul.”

 

“They've lived for that long?”

 

“Yeah. Except for gettin' shot up there's not much that can kill 'em. Damn near immortal.”

 

“So Hancock was alive before the war?”

 

“Nah. He's a special case,” he said, motioning for Charlie to bring him another drink. Scarlet waited for him to continue, but he averted his gaze, looking into his empty glass. She decided not to press the issue. “You want another?” he asked.

 

“Sure.” _Why not?_

 

“Down the hatch,” he said, raising his glass. She raised hers and after klinking glasses, they tossed their heads back and drank. Scarlet did her best to keep a straight face. “Don't go thinkin' that all ghouls are friendly, though.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Out in the Commonwealth there's a lot of ferals running around. They'll fuh- mess you up if you're not careful.”

 

“Noted.” She was starting to unwind, letting the whiskey work its magic. “Can I have another smoke?” She asked, flashing a flirtatious smile at MacCready. _This is kind of fun,_ she had to admit.

 

“Sure thing,” he said, giving her a devilish smile of his own.

 

They were interrupted by a chorus of jeers and applause coming from all around them. “Here's our man now.” MacCready nodded toward the stairs.

 

The mayor sauntered down the steps, opening his arms as he soaked in their adoration. “How ya feelin' tonight, Goodneighbor?” he shouted.

 

His question was answered by an explosion of raucous shouting. _“We love you, Hancock!”_ A woman's voice could be heard over the din.

 

“I love you too, sweetheart!” He pointed to a face in the crowd and smiled. “Hey Charlie, get everyone a round on the house!”

 

Another round of cheers came that dissolved into a slow chant. “ _Hancock, Hancock, Hancock, Hancock!”_ It was so infectious even Scarlet joined in. _He definitely knows how to work a crowd_ , she thought. He was probably the most popular politician she had ever seen.

 

Hancock grinned when he saw the redhead sitting at the bar. He wanted to make a b-line to her but was stopped by several residents who wanted to shake his hand and sing his praises. He tried not to act too annoyed by their gratitude as he worked his way toward her. “Hey, Wolfie, glad to see you up and about!”

 

She swiveled on her chair and looked at him, smiling broadly as she met his eyes. _Am I just high or is she happy to see me?_

 

“Heya Mayor,” said MacCready, tipping his hat at Hancock.

 

“Hey there, MacCready, how's my favorite Merc?” Hancock grabbed his hand and pulled him into a manly hug.

 

“Not too bad,” he answered, giving his pal a good thump on the back.

 

“This asshole giving you trouble, Wolfie?”

 

“It's the other way around,” MacCready interjected. “She's been takin' all my smokes.”

 

Scarlet chuckled, flattered to be a part of their friendly banter. Hancock stole a glance at her. Scarlet's cheeks were rosy with the warmth of alcohol. She had obviously brushed her hair, which rippled gently down her shoulders. She was still wearing that old flannel of his. _Damn, she makes that look good._

 

Charlie came up to the three of them with a bottle of whiskey, ready to fill Scarlet's glass. “Whoa whoa whoa Charlie, what the fuck are you doin'?” He grabbed the bottle and examined it. “You can't give our honored guest this kind of swill.” Hancock shoved the bottle back at Charlie. “Get her a glass of my special reserve. And MacCready, too. Fuck, just bring the bottle.” He looked at the tumbler in front of Scarlet and picked it up, giving it a quick inspection. “And some clean glasses, too! Jesus fucking Christ...”

 

“I thought I should let you know, Hancock,” MacCready said dourly, “I got a visit from some old Gunner pals of mine today. Looks like they've figured out where I am. Probably gonna have to leave town soon.”

 

“Nah, MacCready, you stay here as long as you want, I don't mind havin' to take out the trash, if it comes to that.”

 

“Thanks, Hancock.”

 

“You bet.” Charlie returned with a bright red bottle and three glasses. Hancock popped the cork and poured them each a tall drink. “Here you go, Wolfie, this should be a lot better than that other shit you were chokin' down.”

 

Scarlet brought it to her lips and, with some trepidation, took a careful sip. _Much better._ She was grateful to have something to savor instead of having to slam everything down in one swallow. She didn't want to get too messed up.

 

“So how are you likin' Goodneighbor so far?” Hancock leaned against the bar next to her.

 

“It's not bad. I can think of worse places to convalesce.”

 

“Huh?” chimed in MacCready.

 

“Con – vuh – less!” Hancock shouted at him. “It means 'get better,' you idiot.” He winked at Scarlet. “It's alright, sister. _I've_ read a few books in my life.”

 

“Some of us don't have time for that bullshit. We're too busy working for a living,” bit back MacCready, a touch of genuine anger in his voice.

 

“I'm glad you like it,” Hancock said to Scarlet, ignoring MacCready's dirty glare. “When I took over this place, I decided I wanted to make Goodneighbor a kind of refuge. A place for the folk deemed 'not good enough' for the uptight asshats in Diamond City. A place you could go and live your life however you wanted, without anybody tellin' you what to do. A city of the people, for the people!” His voice rose with that last statement and he turned out to the rest of the bar.

 

“ _Of the people, for the people!_ ” The whole place shouted in unison, then broke out in applause followed by another Hancock chant.

 

Scarlet could tell he was lapping it up, but he didn't seem to let it go to his head. He just tipped his hat and went back to his drink. “Let's really get this party started.” The mayor reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a jet inhaler. MacCready watched eagerly as Hancock took a long, slow hit.

 

The jet seeped into his brain until it was completely fogged over. The world around him slowed down to a crawl. He smiled as he pulled the inhaler away and exhaled slowly. Then, he nudged Scarlet and held it out, offering it to her.

 

_This is definitely just like college_ , she thought, and she was having just as much fun, too. Already feeling inebriated and uninhibited, she accepted it willingly and took a hit herself. Once she had gotten a heady rush of her own, she passed it to MacCready, who finished it off.

 

The three of them drank and shit-talked for hours, losing all sense of time as the jet and alcohol combined and turned their brains into a pleasant mush. Scarlet had really loosened up, Hancock noticed. He was pleased to see her in such a good mood, considering what she had probably gone through. “You know Wolfie's not just a wimpy little vault-dweller,” he said to MacCready. “She came here by herself all the way from Concord, took out a whole gang of super mutants.”

 

“Shut up,” she said, playfully punching him in the arm. “It was just a few guys with some guns and some kind of messed up dog...” she slurred.

 

“Well you must know a thing or two if you made it this far,” said MacCready.

 

“Pfft, I don't know the first thing about how to shoot!” She said, half of the words muffled against the rim of her glass as she took another drink.

 

“Well MacCready here is a halfway decent shot. Maybe he could show you a thing or two.”

 

“Halfway decent! Try the best sniper in the Commonwealth.”

 

“Somebody's got a high opinion of himself!”

 

As the two men jibed back and forth, Scarlet could feel the atmosphere getting thicker. The combination of smoke and bodies was heating up the joint. She reached down to her shirt and unfastened the top two buttons, letting some cool air rush against her neck.

 

At this the conversation between Hancock and MacCready slowed and finally halted. They both were staring at her chest, not saying a word.

 

She knitted her eyebrows, then laughed, thinking it was some kind of joke. “C'mon you guys,” she said. “I know I have nice tits, but that doesn't mean you gotta stare.”

 

“Is there...” Hancock swallowed hard. “Is there somethin' goin' on, Wolfie?”

 

She looked at the two of them, then down at her shirt. Two large, wet stains were forming right over her breasts.

 

She was overcome with panic and embarrassment. She slammed her drink down, threw her arms over her chest, and took off running, pushing past the other patrons in her desperate attempt to leave.

 

“Wolfie!” She could hear Hancock calling after her.

 

Her eyes clouded over with tears as she burst out of the Third Rail and into the cold night air. “Shaun...”

 

* * *

 

 

 

Daisy gently stroked Scarlet's hair as she leaned over the sink, who was sobbing softly as she squeezed the contents of her breast into the basin. “It's alright, sweetie,” she cooed. She had seen the woman stumble out of the bar as she stood outside her shop, smoking a cigarette before heading in for the night. Noticing it was the new vault-dweller, and listening to her blubbering, Daisy took pity on her and scooped her up off the street.

 

“What's going on?” She had asked her.

 

“I just... I just need to find a bathroom,” she choked, lowering her arms.

 

Daisy saw the stains on her shirt. “Aw shit, hun,” she said. “Come back to my place. It's not very nice, but you can have some privacy.”

 

She didn't leave her side, though. She knew that what this woman needed was the comfort of another woman. Something like this wasn't easy. After all, she'd had two kids of her own before the bombs fell. If she had ever lost them... Daisy shuddered to even think about it. And then to have your own body painfully reminding you of what you've lost.

 

“What's your name, Darlin'?”

 

“S-scarlet,” She sobbed, applying more pressure to her swollen breast.

 

“Well Scarlet, my names Daisy. I wish we could have met under better circumstances.”

 

“Me too,” She whimpered.

 

“You might have to do this a couple more times, but it'll stop flowing,” she reassured her.

 

Daisy lingered next to her, chit-chatting about nothing in particular, trying to soothe her as Scarlet did what she had to do. She talked about her husband and kids before the war, funny stories that had Scarlet chuckling through her tears.

 

After a few moments, Daisy heard approaching footsteps outside the shop. “Who's there?” she shouted.

 

“It's Hancock. Have you seen a pretty little redhead wandering around here?”

 

Scarlet chortled rather noisily at this, smiling at his description of her.

 

“Wolfie, is that you?” he asked, his voice betraying his concern.

 

“She's alright John, I've got this,” Daisy said curtly. “Go home, I'll send her back when we're done.”

 

“Alright,” was his despondent reply. A few seconds passed, then he called out again. “Are you sure you're okay?”

 

“I'm fine, John!” Scarlet yelled, her voice wavering. “I'll see you in a few minutes.”

 

Daisy craned her head as she listened for his retreating footsteps, then went back to rubbing Scarlet's back. “You know, you can crash at my place if you want,” she offered. Not that John wasn't treating her right, but Daisy knew another woman, ghoul or not, might be better company for her right now.

 

Scarlet shook her head. “It's okay. He gave me my own room to sleep in.”

 

“Well if you change your mind or if you need anything, anything at all, you just come right over to the shop and let yourself upstairs. I'll tell that Assaultron KLEO next door not to give you any trouble.”

 

Scarlet stared at her face in the mirror. Her face was streaked with tears, her hair a ragged mess. She looked like a madwoman with her breasts hanging out of her shirt and over the sink. “I look like shit,” she said.

 

“No, babe, _I_ look like shit,” said Daisy. “You look like a woman who's had a rough couple of days. What you need is some rest.”

 

“And a hot bath,” added Scarlet.

 

“That's not exactly an easy thing to get around here, but I'm sure we can think of something.”

 

Scarlet sighed, her tears finally starting to die down. The woman next to her was a ghoul, but it didn't phase her right now. She was still a woman. And a mother. At least there was someone else around this godforsaken place who could understand what she was going through. Daisy put her arm around Scarlet, who in turn rested her head on her shoulder. “Thanks, Daisy. Thanks for everything.”

 

“Anytime, babe.”

 


	3. Con-vuh-lessing

Scarlet was grateful no one had bothered her when she slipped into the room set aside for her at the Old State House. The combination of alcohol, chems, and tears had worn her down and she fell asleep as soon as she hit the mattress.

 

Someone had obviously checked in on her, though. When she woke up, a bottle of water and two aspirin were waiting for her on the bedside table. Her head was pounding from dehydration and she chugged the water and pills gratefully before she stood up.

 

She rubbed her shoulder. It was still sore, but definitely mending, and she took a few moments to test its movement.

 

Scarlet crept out of her room to the bathroom in the hallway, not wanting to be social just yet. It was too early. _Or was it_ , she wondered, noting the bright mid-day sunlight. She checked her pip-boy. 11:30. Not too bad, as she didn't know how long she was out the night before. Her head shook and she shuddered as she remembered what had transpired. _I can't think about it now_.

 

Scarlet assessed the progress of her thigh as she sat down on the toilet. The stitches could probably be removed, but she hissed in pain unconsciously when she touched it. One of the wounds was red and swollen. Probably infected. She made a mental note to visit Dr. Amari as soon as she could.

 

She bent over the sink to wash her hands and face. _What a hot mess_ , she thought as she examined her face. She didn't get too much time to dwell on her appearance, though, as she felt a familiar ache in her chest. An annoyed sigh fell from her lips. _Guess I have to think about it_. She began unbuttoning her shirt. Her breasts were swelling and spilling over the cups of her bra. Bright blue veins criss-crossed their surface. She took out her right breast and began pinching her nipple when she heard a voice outside the door.

 

“Good morning, Sunshine.”

 

She tried not to scream as she quickly pulled the sides of her shirt together. The bathroom door had come off the latch and was slightly open, but she was relieved to see no one peeking through when she glanced over her shoulder.

 

Hancock leaned against the wall just outside, his head turned away from the door. He could hear her breath hitch with surprise when he spoke. “Didn't want to bother ya, Wolfie. Just wanted to check on ya.”

 

“I'm fine,” she said, much more confidently than she felt. “Thanks for the water,” she said, opening her shirt back up and continuing what she had started. Hancock had already demonstrated his trustworthiness to her satisfaction, and she felt no discomfort at expressing breast milk with him just outside the door.

 

“I'm no stranger to being hung over,” he said. “It's been a few years since I've had one, though.” Hancock couldn't help himself. He looked to his right at the slightly open door. He could just see a sliver of the mirror and a tress of her hair as she leaned over the sink. “You uh... you wanna talk about anything?” he offered gently.

 

“Not even ready to think about it,” she said matter-of-factly. As she watched the white liquid streaming down the drain, she re-centered herself into a more rational frame of mind. “Is there someone that could use this?” she asked, ever the pragmatist. She felt guilty wasting it if there may be an infant in need of it. Breast milk was probably hard to come by out here.

 

Hancock chuckled. “Nah, doll. It's a nice thought, but you won't find any kids around Goodneighbor.” He paused for a moment, then smiled as an impure thought crossed his mind. “There are probably some freaks who would pay good caps for it, though.” He attempted to lighten the mood.

 

Scarlet laughed heartily at this. “Really? I don't suppose you know any buyers? I could use the money.”

 

Hancock chortled at her subtle implication. “Well it's not really _my_ thing,” he began, pausing to steal another glance through the door frame. “But I'll try anything once.” He was relieved to hear her laugh in response. _Watch yourself, John._ He didn't want to overstep his boundaries, but she had seemed easygoing enough the night before. She had a decent sense of humor, but he didn't know her well enough to decide if it was just a side effect of being inebriated. Her emotional state was probably incredibly fragile, but she kept putting up a tough front. She wasn't ready to face whatever she was going through just yet, and he could sympathize with that. “I'm just gonna be hangin' out for a minute,” he said, pushing away from the wall. “You come see me if you want a smoke or anything.”

 

“I will, John, thanks.”

 

_John._ She said it so casually. The only other person who used his first name was Daisy. It was probably a pre-war thing. Still, it invoked a certain sense of intimacy that made his heart skip a beat. It was a strange sensation, like taking mentats and med-ex at the same time, it both stimulated and soothed him. He did his best to shrug it off, but he knew what was going on in his head. He couldn't deny she'd had a bigger impact on him than the other women who had traipsed in and out of his life.

 

But he knew what he was. While he could charm his way into the pants of smoothskins and ghouls alike, he knew that most normal people had trouble just looking at him. The thought of being with a ghoul was repulsive to the average wastelander. And this girl, a vault-dweller, she was so pure, straight out of the past, a past full of picket fences and warm apple pie, of pristine neighborhoods and glossy billboards. There wasn't a snowball's chance of her ever returning the feeling, and he knew that as sure as anything. But he didn't know how much longer he could keep pushing the feeling aside, pretending like it wasn't there.

 

He sighed heavily as he reached for the mentats in his pocket. One, two, three pills popped into his mouth. He sat on the couch and waited for the high to pull him out of his thoughts.

 

* * *

 

 

Scarlet joined Hancock in his parlor, accepting the cigarette he offered and settling into the couch across from him. He pulled a tin of mentats out of his pocket and opened it, holding it out in front of him. “You want one?”

 

Scarlet nodded and took one of the little round pills without a second thought. In the absense of coffee, this would have to do.

 

“I have a favor to ask you.”

 

Hancock leaned forward. “What do you need?” he asked, trying not to sound too eager.

 

Scarlet took a pensive puff of smoke. “I need help learning how to survive out here. I'm a fast learner, but I need help figuring out how to make it in this world. I can't go running off without setting myself up right. I mean, I got shot because I walked up to a group of people thinking they would help me. I don't even know who to trust.” She paused, looking up at Hancock with pleading eyes. “I think I can trust you though. Can you help me?”

 

His heart jumped into his throat. _God, what a sweet thing_. The way she put her trust in him without a second thought. The look in her eye was enough to pull at his heart and tie his stomach into a knot.

 

“I know I don't have a way to pay you right now-” she began before he could respond.

 

“-Payment ain't necessary,” he interrupted. He leaned back on the couch and put his feet up, trying to keep his voice nonchalant. “That's what Goodneighbor is all about. We help those that need helpin'.” She smiled broadly at him. “And hurt those that need hurtin',” he added.

 

Scarlet nodded in understanding and looked down at her hands. “I am gonna need some caps though.” She began fidgeting with the gold band on her left ring finger. Hancock watched her in silence, letting her finish her thoughts before she spoke. “Do you think I can get anything for this?” She pulled the ring from her finger and held it up to the light, examining it as it shone.

 

Hancock felt a pang of annoyance. Or was it jealousy? “You sure your husband won't mind?” He blurted it out thoughtlessly. It wasn't meant to sound harsh, but he couldn't help but think it came out that way and immediately regretted his choice of words.

 

Scarlet didn't seem phased, though. “He's dead,” she said flatly.

 

A thousand questions flashed in his mind, but he knew better than to ask. “Well, if you really wanna sell it, I think KLEO would give you the best deal,” he said, snuffing out his cigarette. “If you want, I can go down there with you and make sure she doesn't rip you off.”

 

Scarlet smiled gratefully. “That'd be great, thanks.”

 

They both stood up, getting ready to leave. Hancock put a few chems and a lighter in his pocket while Scarlet adjusted her pip-boy, then pulled her sleeve back over it. Scarlet watched quietly as Hancock grabbed a shotgun off the nearby dresser. Then scanning the coffee table, he motioned to Scarlet's 10mm with it. “You might wanna start carrying that with you.”

 

She gave a nod and grabbed it, tucking it into the back of her jeans. The gravity of her situation hit her once again. What a hostile, unforgiving place, if you had to carry a firearm just to walk through town. She breathed deeply, trying to focus on what she could control as she followed Hancock outside.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Hancock had been able to talk KLEO up to 350 caps for the ring. Scarlet was pleased to have some money, but her satisfaction was short-lived as she quickly turned around and gave most of it to Daisy. Hancock stressed the importance of getting a decent set of armor, and Daisy assured them it would only take a few days to get something nice together.

 

Scarlet complained of hunger and Hancock took her to the Hotel Rexford, filling her in on wasteland cuisine as they walked the streets of Goodneighboor. “Mole rat might take some getting used to, but it's a safe bet, so long as it's cooked.”

 

After they ate, Scarlet went to stand, hissing in pain as her thigh injury throbbed.

 

“You alright, Wolfie?” asked Hancock, with more concern than he had intended. He rose quickly from his chair, ready to offer assistance.

 

She waived her hand at him dismissively. “Yeah, just need to make a follow-up visit to the doctor.”

 

“You know how to get there?”

 

“Mhmm.” Dr. Amari had made sure to let Scarlet know of her whereabouts in case she needed something.

 

“Well, I go gotta go see a man about some chems,” he said, adjusting the American flag wrapped around his waist. “You still got that gun?”

 

Scarlet reached behind her and felt for it, making sure it was still securely tucked into her jeans. “Yeah.”

 

“Good. Anyone give you any shit, put a fuckin' bullet in 'em.” Scarlet wasn't sure if he was exaggerating, but she gave him an affirmative look. “I'll be at the Rail later if you wanna meet up for a drink.” He didn't make eye contact as he spoke, again attempting to play it cooler than he felt. He wanted to spend more time with her. He wanted to watch out for her. Just being close to her was enough to send the endorphins rushing to his head. He was quickly getting used to having her near. One might even say it was becoming a habit. But he was trying to be careful not to push himself on her, scare her off.

 

His request was answered with one of her bright smiles. _She really is like a fucking ray of Sunshine,_ he thought.

 

“Yeah, I'll see you there.” She lingered for a moment before she headed out the door, feeling reluctant to leave his side. She didn't want to come off as clingy, but she was quickly becoming accustomed to his presence. Being so unsure of herself made her somewhat dependent on his kindness, and she felt guilty for taking advantage. But she also genuinely enjoyed having him near. It was more than the bubble of safety that seemed to come with being friends with the Mayor. He took a genuine interest in her well-being. She had debated with herself if he cared about her in a meaningful way, or if this was how he treated everyone who needed his help. Despite her dire circumstances, she secretly hoped it was the former. He may not look attractive by conventional standards. Repulsive, even. But Scarlet was rapidly adjusting to his appearance and didn't even see it as abnormal anymore. He wasn't that different, after all. He still had two arms, two legs, two eyes. His missing nose wasn't anything that shocked her anymore. In fact, he would probably look off if he had one. _He's really kind of good-looking, when you think about it._

 

She instantly regretted that thought and quickly tried to squelch it. How could she forget about Nate so easily? She'd hardly flinched when she gave her wedding ring to KLEO. In fact, her thoughts had been more along the lines of, _Good riddance._

 

Another wave of denial overcame her. She would think about it later. The throbbing in her leg reminded her of her current task as she walked with purpose down the streets of Goodneighbor.

 

* * *

 

 

MacCready stood outside the Memory Den. He had seen her go in there earlier. _Probably seein' the doc._ He was shooting the shit with the people who came by, not wanting to admit that he was waiting for her to come out.

 

He ruminated on the events of the previous night. Things had been going good, he thought, until she... _She has a kid?_ He wondered. He had convinced himself initially that it was some weird side-effect of her cryogenic sleep, but the way she reacted, he knew it wasn't the case. It was a painful reminder of his own situation. Of Lucy. Of Duncan. He didn't even know why he was still hanging around this town. He knew what Duncan needed. He knew where to get it. _Maybe leaving the Gunners was a mistake._ He would have felt freer to leave, were it not for the threat of being shot as soon as he left Goodneighbor.

 

Scarlet left after being given an antibiotic. Dr. Amari reminded her to clean the wound with purified water and avoid anything from the tap, as it was probably untreated and irradiated. When Scarlet stepped out onto the street she noticed a familiar form, his back to her as he leaned against a lamppost. “MacCready!” she shouted, happy to see someone she knew.

 

He turned at the sound of her voice. “Wolf!” he said, his happiness all-too-apparent as she approached him. “How you doin'?”

 

“Just getting some stitches removed,” she said. He looked concerned, and she wanted to set him at ease. The thought of him fretting over her made her feel a pang of guilt.

 

“Glad you're doin' better. I was worried after you ran off last night.” He noticed a slight cringe as he brought it up, so he quickly changed the subject. “I was lookin' for you.”

 

“Yeah?” she asked.

 

“I was thinking, if you still want someone to teach you how to shoot, I could show you a couple things.”

 

“That'd be great!”

 

His heart jumped a little, seeing how excited she was. “Well if you've got time now, we can go up to the top of that warehouse,” he said, pointing to a tallish building just down the road from the memory den. “Hancock asked me to set up a sniper's nest up there to watch for mutants. We could have some target practice.”

 

“Sure,” she said, flashing him a bright smile.

 

They used the fire escape stairs to trek up to the roof. MacCready bounded up the steps with ease. Scarlet, on the other hand, had trouble keeping up. She was panting and practically keeled over by the time they reached the top. _Damn, I'm out of shape._

 

The concrete rooftop was cleaner than she had expected; MacCready had gotten rid of most of the debris. There was a lean-to set up in one corner littered with empty cigarette packs and beer bottles. He walked briskly over to a green canvas bag and pulled out a 32 caliber rifle with a short scope perched on top. “You bring your gun?” he asked.

 

Scarlet had been tying up her hair before she reached into her waistband and pulled out the little 10mm she had scavenged from the vault. MacCready approached, eying the weapon. He set down his rifle, leaning it against an exhaust vent, and took it from her. After a quick examination, he gave a curt nod. “Not in bad shape,” he concluded, then handed it back to her. “Always remember,” he slung the strap of his rifle over his shoulder, “take care of it. Clean it out, maintain it. You don't want it blowing up in your face when a raider's comin' after you with a pool cue.”

 

“Understood.” She saw he was taking this seriously. He wasn't one to fuck around when it came to weaponry, she noted. Scarlet stood attentively, waiting for further instructions.

 

“Now, uh, you got a holster for that?” Scarlet shook her head. MacCready clucked his tongue and went back to his bag, fumbling through it. “I think I got an extra one in here...” he said. After a few seconds of digging around he gave up. “Nah, I left it back at the rail.” He stared at the bag pensively, then walked back over to Scarlet.

 

“Here.” MacCready pulled at the camo bandana that was wrapped around his neck. He untied it and handed it to her. “Use this. I want you to get used to drawing from the side.”

 

She set her gun down and took the bandana. Kneeling down, she began wrapping it around her right thigh. MacCready went back to the lean-to and started collecting some of the bottles. He set them up on the far side of the roof while Scarlet tied the cloth and attempted to put away her pistol.

 

MacCready noticed she was having trouble getting it to stay in place and came over to assist. “Let me,” he said, kneeling down next to her.

 

She stood frozen as MacCready pulled the bandana away from her thigh and adjusted it. First he hiked it all the way up to her hip joint, snaking it between her legs before tying it off. She felt a shiver as his hand grazed her inner thigh. She looked away quickly, realizing that the contact had probably made her blush.

 

MacCready noticed her discomfort and then realized what he was doing. He was so focused on teaching it didn't quite hit him that he was getting pretty intimate with her in that position. When they briefly made eye contact she looked away, and he smiled a little when he noticed the color appearing in her cheeks.

 

“There,” he said. “Try that.”

 

Scarlet slid the nose of the pistol into the makeshift holster. The grip stood up firmly.

 

“Good. Now turn over there and practice drawing it a few times while I finish setting this up.”

 

Once he had arranged several beer bottles and tin cans to his satisfaction, he walked back over to her and pulled his rifle into his hands. He aimed at them and examined them through his scope for a moment before speaking again.

 

“Okay, so just a few tips,” he began. She turned and faced him, showing him full attention before he continued. “When you're holding it...” He nudged her right hand with the top of his rifle, prompting her to lift the pistol as if she were about to shoot. “Put your left hand all the way around the grip and over your right hand. Keep your fingers right under the frame.”

 

Scarlet followed his instructions and slid her left hand over the grip. “Make sure it's tight,” he said, and she closed her hands a little tighter.

 

“Now when you've got your arms extended,” he said as he swung his rifle back over his shoulder, “Make sure you bend your elbows a little, don't hold them straight out.” He took a couple steps back and assessed her stance. “Good. Now square your shoulders.” As she did so he frowned a little in disapproval. “Keep 'em relaxed though.” He came back over and placed a firm hand on her right shoulder, not releasing it until he felt it fall a little.

 

“You don't wanna be too rigid.” He reached forward and put his hand on hers momentarily, leveling her aim. “When you shoot, the recoil's gonna travel all the way through your arm...”

 

Scarlet's breath hitched as his hand traveled gently but firmly up the length of her arm. She attempted to keep her face expressionless at his touch, but her insides were igniting. A tingle followed the motion of his fingers as he slid them over her shoulder and rested his hand on her back.

 

“If you resist too much, it's gonna snap your shoulder back and completely mess up your next shot. You just wanna let it run through you and focus on where you're pointing it.”

 

He leaned down and put his face next to hers. He squinted down her line of sight to check her aim. She could feel his breath on the side of her face. His scent filled her nostrils and her heartbeat quickened at his closeness.

 

After he had finished assessing her aim, he stood back again. Scarlet took a deep breath. _Did I forget to breathe while he was doing that?_

 

“Alright. Now take aim. Keep both your eyes open and on your target.” MacCready grabbed his rifle and held it up, taking aim next to her. “And don't think about the shot. Squeeze the trigger, don't pull it. Remember to breathe steadily. And just let it happen.”

 

Scarlet took a few breaths, then squeezed the trigger as he had instructed. The sound of the gunshot surprised her and she jumped back. The beer bottle in front of her shattered. She smiled in surprise, then looked to MacCready for approval.

 

“Not bad,” he said with a touch of pride in his voice. She lowered her gun as he approached the targets and adjusted them. “Try hitting two in a row.” He came back and stood behind her. With a firm touch he reached up and placed his hands on her upper arms. Her skin prickled with goosebumps as she felt him moving in, his chest against her back. “Once you get the first target, you're gonna feel that recoil...” He rocked her shoulders back, simulating the effect. “...Then move your whole body to line up with the next target.” His hands tightened slightly as he directed her to the right. “Don't look to see if you've hit it, just move on. Focus on what you're aiming at.”

 

Scarlet's heart was pounding as he pulled from her again. She tried to focus on the task but found herself heady from the feeling of his arms wrapped around her. _Focus, Scarlet, focus..._ she repeated inwardly. There was a lot for her to learn and if she was going to make any progress, she couldn't be fawning over her instructor during her shooting lessons.

 

She squeezed the trigger once, twice. Two bottles exploded in time with the gunshots. Beaming, she looked to MacCready for approval. He was leaning against the edge of the roof behind her, smiling. “Pretty good,” he said. “You catch on quick.”

 

Scarlet began reloading her pistol. “Keep practicing. Once you're out of bottles, try aiming for those vents on the roof across the street.” She glanced to where he was pointing – there were two large exhaust fans riddled with bullet holes. “I've gotta re-calibrate my scope.” MacCready went back to his sniper's nest and propped his rifle on the lip of the roof, squinting down the sight.

 

Scarlet resumed practicing. She managed to hit the majority of her targets on the first try. If MacCready heard a shot that wasn't followed by shattering glass, he would return to her side, correct her posture or give her a technique reminder, then go back to his rifle.

 

“You always use a sniper rifle?”

 

“Most of the time. It's a lot safer to pick off targets from a distance then run into a firefight, guns blazing.”

 

“You think I ought to try sniping?” The idea of avoiding direct confrontation appealed to her.

 

“I want you to practice with something easy first. Get the basics. Sniping's not exactly for self-defense.” They were silent for a moment as Scarlet lined up her next target. “You wanna see something cool?” He couldn't hide his eagerness as he said it. Scarlet turned to face him. “C'mere,” he motioned.

 

She walked over beside him as he rose, and he made sure the rifle stayed in place as he did. “You see that billboard over there?” He pointed to something in the distance. Far off, she could see a damaged Red Rocket sign on the side of a dilapidated tower. She couldn't even begin to guess how far away it was.

 

“Take a look,” he said, directing her toward the scope. She knelt down and put her eye up to the lens as he kept it steady. She could see it very clearly in frame. It was dented and worn to hell, but she could still read the red lettering against the white background.

 

“Alright, now wait a sec.” MacCready shifted over, signaling for Scarlet to move so he could take her place and hold the rifle properly. She watched him, rapt, as he situated himself down low, putting his eye to the scope, breathing deeply as he did.

 

After a brief but audible exhale MacCready fired. The explosion of the bullet leaving the chamber crashed the silence, causing Scarlet to nearly jump out of her own skin. After taking the shot he stood up confidently. “Now look.”

 

When she looked back down the scope, she could see a tiny black hole right through the middle of the “o” in “Rocket”.

 

“That's amazing!” she said genuinely. MacCready crossed his arms, trying not to look too pleased with himself. “You're such a show-off,” she teased, giving him a sideways glance.

 

“All in a day's work,” was his playfully arrogant reply.

 

MacCready reclaimed his rifle and Scarlet her pistol as they resumed their previous tasks. “Who taught you to shoot?” she asked.

 

“Self-taught. Not much to do when you're growing up underground.”

 

“You were from a vault?” she questioned earnestly.

 

“No, just outside one. It was a safe enough place in the Capital Wasteland.”

 

“Where's that?” she asked, following another shot.

 

“Uh... think you might know it as D.C.” He stood up and scanned the horizon. “We called our community Little Lamplight. I was even the mayor, believe it or not.”

 

“Really?” she asked dubiously.

 

“Yeah, but we were just a bunch of kids. I left when I was sixteen. See, they had this rule. No adults. Once you turned sixteen, you had to leave, and you weren't allowed to come back.”

 

“Damn. That's rough.” Scarlet placed her gun back in its makeshift holster and rubbed her forearms. They were getting sore from the unpracticed effort. “How did a group of children survive on their own?”

 

“We all pulled our weight, like any other community. We kind of saw adults as dangerous, risky. We seemed to be a lot safer that way.”

 

“I guess that makes sense.” Scarlet took note of the sun's location and checked her Pip-Boy. “I'm gonna head back. I told John I'd meet him at the bar for a drink later.”

 

Something about the way she said his name made MacCready's blood simmer beneath his skin. And it hurt a little, her ditching him to go hang out with Hancock. He tried to shake the feeling off. “Aw, just when we were starting to have fun,” he said smoothly with a cheeky grin.

 

“I don't suppose you'll be coming by?” she asked, probing. She kind of wanted to see him...

 

“Wouldn't miss it. I've got some business to take care of, then I'll come by.”

 

“Okay,” she grinned. “See you there.” She hesitated before leaving. “Um... what do I owe you for the lesson?”

 

MacCready looked puzzled for a moment. “Don't worry about it,” he averted her eyes as he answered. “This ones on the house.”

 

She bounced lightly down the stairs, practically elated. _Calm down, Scarlet, you're acting like your crush just asked you to the prom._ But there was no killing the mood she was in, the handsome sniper's face fresh in her mind as she went back to the Old State House.

 

* * *

 

_Water... feel_ _s_ _so good..._

 

Scarlet wrung the washcloth out over her head and reveled in the sensation of the cool water trickling from her hair and onto her back. After three days of heat and filth, the simple pleasures of hygiene were nothing short of heavenly.

 

Upon returning to her room, there were a few gifts waiting for her. In the center of the room was a small silver tub of water. On her nightstand was a used hunk of soap and a stained, albeit clean washcloth, accompanied by a note:

 

_I know it isn't much, but I hope it helps. And I think the dress should fit. Hope it reminds you of home._

 

_-Daisy_

 

Her eyes darted to the bed. Laid out upon the mattress was a simple cream-colored dress with white polka-dots. She picked it up and held it in front of her. Short capped sleeves, a sweetheart neckline, and a knee-length hem. There was even a pair of ivory flats just under the bed. It reminded her of something she used to wear around the house.

 

The magnitude of the gifts daisy had brought her was not lost on Scarlet. She hugged the garment to her face and inhaled, as if it still might have had the scent of 2077 clinging to it. And even though the tub was only big enough to stand in, there was just enough water for a proper wash.

 

She could hardly contain her anticipation as she slipped off her clothes and stepped into the tub. The water was chilly, but after spending the day in the sun it was a welcome refreshment. She wetted the washcloth and ran it over her body, savoring the feeling. Then she grabbed the soap and sussed up the rag before starting to scrub away the grime. The lack of decent shampoo didn't really bother her, either, as she dug her soapy fingertips into her scalp.

 

Rinsing her hair took some time with nothing but a washcloth with which to do it. But the repetition of soaking the washcloth and squeezing it dry was therapeutic. She let her mind turn off. A peaceful darkness overtook her consciousness, and she was lulled into a happy, mindless void.

 

Then the light crashed back into her consciousness, like a rock smashing a mirror, as the door swing open.

 

“Shit!” yelled Hancock.

 

The soap slipped from Scarlet's hand and plopped into the water. She jerked her head to the side while throwing her arms up to cover her private areas. But all she saw was a corner of his hat as he slammed the door shut.

 

An awkward pause followed before he spoke, loud enough to be heard through the door. “Sorry about that Wolfie, I didn't know you were here.”

 

“It's okay,” she responded quickly, attempting to cut the tension. He had been respectful thus far and she felt more embarrassed for him than for herself. “I'm sure it's nothing you haven't seen before,” she added sardonically.

 

Hancock leaned back against the door, grateful that ghouls couldn't blush. He felt like an idiot for not knocking. But the State House was silent when he had come in. Fahrenheit was outside guarding the door and said nothing when he entered. All the members of his neighborhood watch were out on patrol.

 

He had seen her only from the back. But her full, naked back. Her red hair was completely soaked and clinging to her bare shoulders. His eyes had quickly traveled from her shoulder blades to the inward curve of her waist, then down to her round, pert bottom. Her skin was so milky white it was almost blinding.

 

Hancock was almost surprised that she responded so dismissively, but this wasn't the first time she had taken the high road to spare someone else. She was graceful under pressure, at least socially, and made an effort to make those around her feel comfortable. Hancock was simultaneously relieved and smitten. _What a sweet thing._

 

“I mean I've seen a lot of things in my lifetime, but I guarantee you I ain't never seen anything quite like that.” His voice was deep and suggestive. It wasn't out of character for him to be flirtatious. But it immediately made her stomach turn in somersaults and blood filled her cheeks. She bit her lip and smiled shyly.

 

“So, uh...” she chimed in after a moment. “Was there a reason you were coming into my room?”

 

He chuckled. “Yeah, I was gonna drop off a little somethin' for ya.” Another pause. “...But, I can see you're busy. You still comin' down to the rail?”

 

“Yeah, I was planning on it.”

 

“I'll just give it to you there, then.”

 

“Thanks,” she said. She couldn't stop smiling. _Another gift?_ Her initial impression of this world had been that everyone was out for themselves. But she had been shown nothing but kindness and charity since she arrived in Goodneighbor. She still felt slightly guilty accepting it, but she knew that pride was of little use out here.

 

As she listened to Hancock's retreating steps, she stepped out of the tub. She looked around for a towel but realized she would have to air dry.

 

Scarlet looked around for something to pass the time. _Wish I had a cigarette._ Her eyes fell on her discarded clothing – the bra and panties she had been wearing for the past few days were filthy to say the least. What was left of the bathwater was used to wash the garments.

 

As she hung the wet clothing over the iron bedframe, she tried to judge the time they would take to dry. _Should be able to get away without wearing them,_ she thought, eying the dress that Daisy had given her. At least for a little while, she could feel like a normal woman.


	4. Holstered

Hancock was downing mentats and liquor at the bar while he waited for Scarlet. He tried to shake what he had seen and forget the awkwardness that had happened between them. But her response was so nonchalant, coy even. Her readiness to engage with him, even when he made a blunder, was so endearing it made his heart melt.

 

_She's not for you, John._

 

He was cursed with a sharp self-awareness. No matter how charming or how confident, he was still a ghoul and he knew it. The John Hancock persona, the devil-may-care attitude, they were coping mechanisms, shielding himself from his own reality.

 

He was a natural womanizer. Few were immune to his roguish charms. Most of the women in Goodneighbor had been his at one point or another. The ghoul women were easy enough to bed, and many of them had to be fended off after he had tired of them. Normal women seemed to be attracted to him, but there was always an ulterior motive for them, like being with a ghoul was just satisfying some kind of morbid curiosity. His romantic relationships always ended in the gutter where they started. He had little interest in putting in the effort to maintain them, and most wastelanders felt the same way. In the Commonwealth, folk had little time for romance, and that included the mayor of Goodneighbor.

 

But just the sight of her was enough to make him dizzy. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced, and it scared him. Before, he had been content to move on to another woman after a brief tryst. Not getting too close to anyone was an arrangement that suited him, and most of his lovers were happy to oblige. But when he looked at the vault-dweller who had come into his life just days before, this woman out of time who not only needed his help but was grateful to receive it, he felt the overwhelming desire to get closer to her. He wanted to know more about her. He wanted to take care of her. He wanted to run his hands over her ivory skin, memorize the curve of her waist...

 

Hancock rejected these thoughts and occupied himself making small talk with some Goodneighbor residents. _As if she could stand look at this face day after day._ But look at him she did, with no hesitation whatsoever. When she stared at him with those wide, blue eyes, it was enough to make a grown man cry. But he knew better. There was nothing deeper behind her gaze. It was a look of helplessness and nothing more. _She's not for you, John._

 

And then he saw her coming down the steps of the Third Rail. She was wearing a dress, one that exposed her shapely calves and flared softly over her thighs. Her arms were exposed, too, almost up to the shoulders. The neckline dipped to just above her cleavage and revealed the entirety of her sun-kissed chest and neck. Her hair was still slightly damp and she had tied into a braid that fell over her left shoulder. She even had a pair of shoes to complete the outfit. Hancock thought she looked like one of the pin-ups he had seen in old magazines, sensuous but coy, nubile yet sophisticated all at the same time.

 

She gave him her characteristic mile-long smile and waved when she saw him. _Why does she always look so damn happy to see me?_ Her genuine pleasure when she looked at him made it hurt even worse.

 

“Hey there, Sunshine,” he said casually as he got up from his seat at the bar and offered it to her.

 

Scarlet's heart skipped a beat. She liked his nickname for her already. There was a surge of excitement she felt every time he said it. “Nice to see you when I'm fully clothed,” she jibed as Charlie poured her a drink.

 

“You ain't gonna let it go, are ya?” Hancock smiled and sipped his beer. The image of her naked back was still fresh in his mind. As she took her seat on the barstool her dress rode up slightly, revealing the end of her pistol strapped to her thigh. It was secured with a camouflage bandana. _Where have I seen that before?_ The sharp sting of jealousy suddenly hit him as realized who it came from. She already had a token of MacCready's, and she was keeping it in a pretty intimate place.

 

“Well it better be worth it,” she teased.

 

Hancock's brow furrowed and he looked puzzled. “What?”

 

“You said you wanted to give me something. Or was that just the first excuse you could come up with for walking in on me?”

 

Hancock's laugh was loud and resonant as he pulled something out of his pocket. “You had me so shook up you almost made me forget. Here you go, doll.” He placed a pack of cigarettes on the bar and then laid a flip lighter next to it. “So you don't have to keep askin' me.”

 

“Thank you so much,” she said sincerely and pulled out a cigarette. Holding the lighter up she could see that he had taken the time to buff its surface – it almost looked new. On one side was a revolutionary war soldier holding a flag with thirteen stars, and on the other in serifed letters was the phrase 'E Pluribus Unum.'

 

“This is really nice,” she commented as she lit her cigarette.

 

“Just somethin' I had lyin' around,” was his casual response.

 

“Still, thank you.” Scarlet took a deep drag, taking a beat to let the familiar buzz course through her body.

 

“Anytime.” He gave her a sly wink and she blushed slightly, then they both took generous swallows of their drinks.

 

“So what's your story, Hancock?”

 

“Ha, my favorite subject.” He leaned one arm against the bar as he began. “I came into this town about a... decade ago?” He paused and looked upward, trying to rekindle his memories. “Had a smooth set of skin back then.” Scarlet felt a twinge of sympathy as she remembered what MacCready had said about Hancock being a 'special case.' “While I was busy making myself a pillar of this community,” he continued, “I would go on these, like, 'wild tears.' I was young.

 

“Any chems I could find, the more exotic, the better. Finally found this experimental radiation drug. Only one of its kind left and only one hit. Oh man, the high was so worth it...” Hancock smiled into the mouth of his beer bottle.

 

Scarlet studied his expression. _So that's how he turned into a... ghoul._ If she was reading him right, there was something else he wasn't telling her. She could tell he was acting more light-hearted about it than he felt, but she didn't say anything. Not wanting him to linger on a painful memory, she let him go on.

 

“Yeah, I'm living with the side effects. It's not so bad. I think it gives me a sexy, 'king of the zombies' kind of look. Big hit with the ladies. And hey, what's not to love about immortality?”

 

“You're immortal?”

 

“Well... not exactly. Ghouls just age real, real slow. Something about the rads, maybe? Who knows.”

 

Scarlet briefly wondered how old he really was, though it appeared not to matter to ghouls. Daisy was well over 230 years old, after all, and wasn't any the worse for wear. “All that chem use definitely prepared you for a career in politics,” she said sarcastically.

 

Hancock chuckled. “People respect me because I don't put myself above them. I sling and shoot up just like the next guy.”

 

“Hey, I can get behind that.” Scarlet raised her glass and Hancock raised his before they both emptied their contents. Charlie didn't need any prompting as he silently came up to refill them.

 

“But that's what Goodneighbor stands for. It's all about the people. They're freaks, misfits, and troublemakers, and that's why I love 'em. Everyone here lives their own life, their own way. No judgments. Everyone's welcome in Goodneighbor. I don't care if you're a synth, ghoul, or even a super mutant, so long as you play nice.”

 

“What's a synth?”

 

“I keep forgetting you got a pair of virgin ears. Synths are robots, but not like old Charlie here. They're practically human. Some of 'em you can tell just by lookin' at 'em that they're made of metal. Others, the newer ones, they got flesh and blood. They look so real even your own mother couldn't tell the difference if the Institute decided to swap you with one.” Hancock went on before she had a chance to ask, noting the look of confusion on her face. “The Institute is this group of egg-heads. No one knows where they are, or why they do it, but rumor has it they've been takin' average citizens and swappin' 'em for synths. Or they just make 'em to use as their own personal slaves. But it's got the whole Commonwealth on edge.”

 

Scarlet took in the information. The idea of a fully synthetic human was almost exciting from a scientific perspective. “Seems like technology is still progressing, even after society collapsed.”

 

“If you call that progress,” he said bitterly.

 

“Not like what they're doing is ethical,” she quickly interjected. “It's just interesting. I studied robotics when I was in college.”

 

“I was meanin' to ask you how you made a living before all this,” Hancock said curiously, urging her to continue.

 

“I never really had a chance to do anything with my degree. Nate was...” she choked on her own words. It was the first time she had said his name since she came out of the vault. “My husband insisted that I stay home and take care of the baby. I asked him if I could start a small business, fixing up broken robots and computers for our neighbors, but he didn't want me doing that, either. Said as long as I was his wife, I wouldn't work.”

 

Hancock hesitated to ask anything else. She sounded nostalgic yet irritated when she spoke of him. Thus far he had stopped himself from prying, but she seemed to be finally opening up, and his curiosity was difficult to suppress. “How'd you guys meet?”

 

“He was a soldier, serving in the Army when we met. He was on leave in Boston and school was out for the summer. My friends and I were on a bar crawl when I saw him playing darts. He was so handsome. Big muscles. Kind of cocky, but a smooth talker. We were both pretty drunk when we hooked up.” Scarlet looked into her glass. She picked it up then set it down again, like she had wanted to take a drink but thought better of it. “I found out I was pregnant, then he did the honorable thing and asked me to marry him.”

 

“So you said yes.” He almost asked rather than stated it, leading her on.

 

“In my day you couldn't be a single mom. My family would have probably disowned me. Nate and I eloped after only a couple weeks. My parents seemed pretty happy, him being in the military. Guess they figured he could take good care of me.” She took a gulp of liquor then before going on. “I finished school right before I had the baby. We got a house just north of here, in Sanctuary Hills. We didn't know much about each other and didn't have a solid foundation to build a marriage on. Needless to say things didn't go so well between us. He wasn't very... nice.”

 

Hancock tensed up as she said this. Scarlet sensed a protective anger coming off him. It was sweet, she thought, and couldn't help but smile. “He didn't hit me or anything,” she was quick to say. Hancock's body language relaxed, but he was still scowling. “We would just get drunk and fight a lot. I have to give him credit. He tried to make things work. But I wasn't exactly the easiest person to get along with.”

 

“I'm sure he was no saint,” Hancock interjected.

 

“Neither of us were. But we did our best, for Shaun's sake.”

 

The name was almost forced from her lips. _So that's the kid's name._ He was suddenly bombarded with a thousand more questions that were begging to be asked. _She said her husband was dead... how did he die? When? What happened to the kid?_ He gritted his teeth and tried to keep a lid on it, not wanting to drudge up anything that would cause her too much grief. He was grateful for what she had shared with him thus far and was touched by her willingness to confide in him.

 

“Well I'm sorry you ended up in this hellhole,” he said. “But I want you to know I'm here to help you out. If you need me for anything, I'm there.”

 

Scarlet's eyes widened as she looked up at him. They were shiny with tears, though none had spilled yet. But the gratitude he sensed in her look was so overwhelming, so pure and sweet. It made his heart swell and he ached to hold her, to stroke her hair, soothe away whatever pain she was going through.

 

“Thank you, John.”

 

_Every damn time..._ Every time she told him thank you in that soft, honeyed voice of hers it almost killed him. He knew she would never reciprocate what he felt, and he could never tell her what she meant to him, but he told himself it didn't matter. He would stick with her, whatever came her way, and help her fight whatever she had to face. Rationality be damned, he would follow this woman to the ends of the earth if he could keep seeing that smile.

 

“If it isn't my best student!” MacCready's voice crashed in over them. He swiftly took a seat beside Scarlet and tipped his hat to her before motioning for Charlie. Hancock hoped his glare wasn't too obvious. MacCready felt like an intruder just then. And they had obviously spent time together that day. The thought of Scarlet getting closer to him made Hancock's blood boil.

 

“If I'm your best student I'm afraid to hear about your others,” was her modest response.

 

“Don't sell yourself short.” MacCready gave a cursory glance to Hancock. “Mr. Mayor,” he said.

 

“MacCready,” he said flatly. He hardly bothered to look in the man's direction as he regarded his presence.

 

MacCready snapped his fingers in an attempt to get Charlie's attention as he hovered over. “Whiskey, on my tab.”

 

“You've been running up quite the tab since you been here,” said Hancock. There was a touch of disapproval in the way he said it, like a father lecturing his teenage son. “You plannin' on paying it anytime soon?”

 

MacCready did his best not to stare daggers at Hancock. “Work's been hard to come by since I left the Gunners,” he said defensively. “I don't suppose you have anything for me?”

 

There was no light-hearted banter between the two this time, only thinly veiled accusations. Scarlet sensed the tension immediately but did her best to ignore it. Whatever had come up between them, she decided it wasn't her business and she certainly didn't want to get in the middle of two dangerous men.

 

“Well Mac, I'll tell you what...” Hancock stood up with an authoritative air. “I got reconnaissance needs. There's a lot of weird talk coming in about a place called Pickman Gallery.” His tone became serious and he adjusted the flag around his hips. “It's raider territory up there, but they've been quiet. Like uncomfortable, post-coitus quiet. Snoop it out, and give me the word. And maybe I'll see about clearin' out your tab.”

 

MacCready took a moment to ruminate over the offer, stroking his goatee. He couldn't pretend he didn't need the work, and the job seemed easy enough. Merc jobs weren't growing on trees these days. “I'll check it out for you,” he finally said, lighting a smoke. “But I'm gonna need an advance so I can stock up on ammo. In case things go downhill. And you know they will.”

 

Hancock stared at MacCready pensively, then nodded. “Deal.” The two men raised glasses and drank.

 

Hancock could sense Scarlet's discomfort as she watched the exchange. He changed the subject. “Wolfie here was tellin' me she was some kind of egg-head back in her day. Building assaultrons and war machines.” The way he phrased it had a more sinister purpose; he hoped MacCready, not having an inclination for book smarts, would be intimidated.

 

She laughed out loud at his exaggeration. “I told you I never got to actually do anything.” She turned to MacCready and explained, “I majored in robotics with a minor in computer programming.”

 

“Uh... interesting. Sounds hard,” was all he could think to say.

 

“I guess so. I was just a geek, really. I was a weird kid. On Saturday when everybody else was out playing, I just sat in my room and played Red Menace until my dad would yell at me to go outside.”

 

“Aw, so you _were_ a misfit. No wonder you fit in so well here,” said Hancock.

 

“Makes sense,” said MacCready, “the way you don't stop messing with that Pip-Boy.”

 

Scarlet noticed she had been turning the dials absently while they were speaking. “Oh, yeah. Just trying to figure this thing out. I can't believe you guys still have radio stations up and running.”

 

“Diamond City radio's alright, if you can get past the DJ Travis. He's a piece of work,” MacCready said, rolling his eyes.

 

“Our own Kent here in Goodneighbor plays the old Silver Shroud episodes, if you're into that,” added Hancock.

 

“Really?!” she practically squealed. “I was such a big fan of the Shroud back in the day. Used to collect his comic books and everything!”

 

“Then you'll have to meet Kent,” Hancock said. “He's the biggest Shroud fan I've ever met, at least in the Commonwealth. Maybe we'll pay him a visit tomorrow.”

 

Scarlet readily agreed and MacCready felt his own jealousy rolling in again. Hancock seemed to be doing his best to monopolize her time. And he had just accepted a job that would keep him out of Goodneighbor for a few days at least... He tried to console himself with the thought that Hancock, while a nice guy, didn't stand a chance with Scarlet. MacCready at least had a normal face. Hancock's mug was something only a mother could love.

 

They continued drinking and talking as they had the night before, though with some added strain. However, they kept the conversation pretty civil, or as civil as they could be with Scarlet sitting between them. But after a few hits of jet everyone seemed to relax. Magnolia had begun singing and the atmosphere was light. Before long, the trio were laughing enthusiastically and talking to groups of strangers.

 

Scarlet noticed a man making a B-line for them out of the corner of her eye. It was Ham, the Third Rail's bouncer. He went directly to Hancock and leaned in close, whispering something only Hancock could hear. The mayor sipped his drink as he listened, nodding, then he snuffed his cigarette out on the bar.

 

“Duty calls,” he said to them as Ham left. “One of the regulars is stirring up some shit at the Hotel. I gotta go take care of it.” He looked at Scarlet and MacCready with some trepidation. It felt like he was betraying himself, leaving the two of them alone together. But Scarlet was her own woman, he told himself. Whatever happened, happened. She could hold her own well enough he surmised, and she had a weapon on her in case things got out of hand. Realistically, he knew he couldn't be there to watch her every move. And even if he could, it wouldn't change things. It wouldn't suddenly make her reciprocate his feelings.

 

“You need any help?” offered MacCready.

 

“Nah, should only take me a couple minutes. I'll be back.” He hoped the slight threat hidden in his last statement would be evident to the mercenary as he left the bar.

 

Once Hancock left, MacCready increased the frequency of his drink orders. “I don't know about you, but I'm planning on getting shi- I mean, drunk,” he said.

 

Scarlet, not being one to ruin the party, tried to keep up with his pace. “It's not like we have anything better to do,” she said affably.

 

The drinks kept flowing. MacCready was becoming increasingly aware of his feelings toward Scarlet. When he saw her wearing that dress... damn if he didn't get hard at the thought of lifting it up over her head. The cream color made her skin glow a delicious pale pink, and her eyes sparkled behind the lenses of her glasses. He thought it was cute, the way they were constantly slipping down her nose and she had to keep pushing them back.

 

And when she swiveled in her chair and crossed her legs, he saw the bandana he had given her tied around her right thigh. He thought back to the way she had looked when he tied it for her on the warehouse rooftop. Then an idea crossed his mind.

 

“Hey, Wolf, I think I still got a holster for that pistol of yours, if you want it.”

 

She tossed back a drink, her cheeks and nose rosy and warm with alcohol. “That would be great!” she said.

 

“C'mon.” MacCready set his glass down on the bar and took Scarlet's hand. “I've got my stuff set up in the VIP room here.”

 

She silently took his hand, the warmth of it enveloping her own. His skin was rough, but pleasantly so. Her pulse quickened as she slid off the barstool and followed him to the back room.

 

The noise of the bar faded as they retreated down a narrow hallway and into the back. It looked like the room may have been a smoking lounge before the war – a few rusted cigarette machines and standing ashtrays were up against the walls. There were a few nice pieces of furniture that appeared to be in good shape. A long red sofa with plush pillows was in the corner, a blanket hanging over the side. It looked like it was where MacCready was sleeping. A tall floor lamp, still in one piece, sat next to an overstuffed leather chair that was dusty with cigarette ash. A standing shelf against the wall held a few bottles of liquor and beer, some food, and some ammo boxes Scarlet recognized as being military issue.

 

Scarlet stood idly next to the shelf with her hands clasped behind her. MacCready scanned the room and, finding a knapsack under the sofa, he went to dig through it. She fumbled her fingers nervously. _I'm alone with him in his room._ The realization hit her and she couldn't ignore the implications. Did he have other intentions for bringing her back here? She couldn't pretend the thought wasn't exciting.

 

MacCready grinned and held up the leather holster. She froze as he approached her. She didn't know how to react as he closed the gap between them, slid his hand up her dress, and removed her pistol.

 

“Let me,” he said firmly. He set the gun onto the shelf next to her, all the while maintaining his eyes on hers. They were so close she could feel his breath as it gently caressed her cheek. Wordlessly, he untied the bandana from her thigh and let it fall to the floor, making no secret of caressing her inner thigh as he did so. He pushed even closer now so that he was right on her, their bodies touching as he lifted her dress and wrapped the leather holster around her naked hip.

 

He smiled. As his fingertips brushed along her side he could feel her naked skin; she wasn't wearing anything under her dress. He looked down at her chest, which was heaving with intensity at his nearness. The fabric of her dress did nothing to hide her nipples, which were hard and clearly visible beneath the cloth.

 

Neither of them spoke as he made his way to her thigh, securing the second leather strap around it. Once he had finished, he ran his hands up her legs and rested them on her bare hips before finally moving in to claim her mouth with a kiss.

 

Scarlet leaned against the wall, gasping at the suddenness of his motion. He coaxed her mouth open with his, running his tongue along her lips and teeth. She threw her arms around his neck and returned his kiss with abandon, letting the feeling overcome her. His goatee bristled pleasantly against her mouth. He tasted of whiskey and tobacco in a combination that Scarlet found irresistibly masculine. His rough hands groped around the soft flesh of her buttocks and she sighed against him.

 

MacCready was unable to contain himself. His rigid cock fought to free itself from his pants as his body rubbed up against hers. He thought the fact that she wasn't wearing any underwear insanely erotic. He wondered if she had done it on purpose, intending for something like this to happen. He growled rapaciously and without further regard slid two fingers into her, pushing them in until they were completely enveloped by her womanhood.

 

The shock of the sensation hit her all at once and she lunged backward, breaking the kiss. It was as if she had been in a dark room and someone suddenly ripped open the blinds. He didn't just smell of whiskey. He reeked of it so heavily he may as well have bathed in it. For her part, Scarlet was dizzy not just from the intensity of the moment, but from inebriation. If he was this far gone then she was too as she had attempted to keep drinking along with him.

 

And the way he pushed himself into her... it was almost aggressive. She could feel the hardness of his desire but hadn't reached a similar point herself. She had let herself get swept up without thinking if it was what she wanted. And she realized at that moment, as he stared at her with shocked, pleading eyes, that she didn't want it. Not like this.

 

“I'm – I'm sorry,” she stammered, attempting to free herself from his grip. He had her pinned against the wall and wouldn't budge. He continued to stare at her lustfully and went in to kiss her again.

 

“Come on,” he said, his tongue darting into her mouth once more, “You know you want this.”

 

A part of her did. Really, the sensation of being touched like that was utterly incredible. It had been a long time, more than the 200 years that had elapsed, since a man had touched her like that. Her own husband was standoffish and was rarely in the mood for that kind of activity since she had had the baby. Her body was responding by thrusting itself back against him, against her better judgment.

 

“No,” she said again, taking all the willpower she had to push him to arm's length. “Not now.” She almost begged as she said it.

 

MacCready took her hand and kissed it, then began leaving a trail of kisses up her arm to her shoulder, then to her neck. He tugged at the fabric of her sleeve and pulled it down slightly, leaving her shoulder completely bare. “Come on, babe. You got me all worked up here.” He pressed his erection to her stomach and sucked at the sensitive skin on her neck.

 

“No,” she said again, much more firmly. As she fought to push him away again, his hand held tight to the tiny capped sleeve of her dress, his other hand was working its way up her dress again and around her hip. His grip was so tight Scarlet found herself wrestling against it. She struggled, half-heartedly at first, then with urgency as she realized he was not going to let her go.

 

The struggle continued for a few moments. MacCready looked almost primal, overtaken by his own instincts, and Scarlet was becoming more terrified by the second. In one final attempt, before resorting to something more desperate, she summoned her strength and finally wriggled out of his grasp. “I said let me go!” she yelled. His hand was still on her sleeve and she cringed as she heard the fabric rip.

 

The sound seemed to bring them both back to reality. MacCready shook his head and looked at Scarlet. She was red with anger, her eyes full of tears. Her nostrils flared and her breath was ragged as she looked at her shoulder. She covered it with her hand, her lip trembling, as she stormed out of the VIP room. MacCready simply stood and watched her leave, the fabric of her sleeve still tight in his fist.

 

* * *

 

 

Hancock was giving some orders to one of his guards outside the hotel when he heard the front door of the bar slam open, and light footsteps stumbling out. Without even looking he knew it was her.

 

He quickly broke off the conversation and strode purposefully toward her. She was standing in the middle of the empty street, shaking slightly, and fumbling with something under her dress.

 

Scarlet swayed but didn't move as she heard his approach. She focused on undoing the fastenings of the holster and then, having freed herself, threw it to the ground. A few small sobs rolled out of her as she did so.

 

“Wolfie,” he called softly as he neared her, watching what had happened with confusion.

 

Scarlet turned around to look at him. He stopped just a few steps away, halted by the wild look in her eye. Tears were streaming down her ruddy cheeks. She was gasping for breath, like she had when she first came into Goodneighbor and was fighting for her life. Her right hand crossed to cover her left shoulder, the same way as when he first saw her.

 

Hancock immediately thought of her injury. “You alright? Did something happen? You need to see the doc?” His questions came rapidly.

 

Scarlet's head slumped down and she let her hand drop. Hancock saw the missing sleeve and without skipping a beat, he was driven into a frenzy of anger that he fought to control. _Who touched you?_ Was his only thought. He was kicking himself for leaving her alone. Somebody had taken advantage of her in his absence. If he had insisted on staying with her, maybe it wouldn't have happened.

 

_Was it MacCready?_ He had left them alone together. Had MacCready taken advantage of Scarlet's good nature? The thought burned his skin hotter than radiation ever could.

 

He was roiling with emotion as Scarlet took a few small, timid steps toward him. Then finally, letting out a small whimper, she fell against him. She buried her head in his chest and clutched the edges of his coat, crying softly into the fabric of his undershirt.

 

Hancock carefully wrapped his arms around her back and held her close. He leaned his head over hers, inhaling the subtle scent of her hair. It was sweet and bright, like a fresh strawberry. The sensation went straight to his head and he suddenly forgot his anger. The feeling of her body against his was all-consuming, and he reveled in her softness, the feeling of her breath against his chest. She didn't even flinch when he pulled her in.

 

He even had forgotten where they were for a moment, standing in the middle of the streets of Goodneighbor, when she finally spoke. “Can you take me home, John?”

 

Scarlet pulled her head up and looked into his eyes. He watched a big tear form in the corner of her eye and roll along her nose. He wanted desperately to wipe it away.

 

“Yeah, doll. Let's go,” he said softly. He took her by the shoulders and guided her away, back to the Old State House.

 

* * *

 

He sat down beside her on the couch and held her to him as she sobbed and sipped the vodka in front of her. She had asked for another drink, something strong. He could tell by the way she tripped over her own feet on their way back that she had probably had enough. But he obliged, aiding her in drowning her sorrows as she laid everything out for him.

 

She told him about what she had witnessed in the vault. Her husband shot in the head. Her baby boy ripped from his arms by two strangers as the infant wailed for his mother. She had pounded against the glass until her hand was bruising. _“Shaun!”_ she had cried. _“My baby, my baby!”_

 

The man with a bald head and a scar across his eye came right up to her. _“At least we still have the backup_ ,” he said in a gravelly voice.

 

She was helpless to save her child. Her consciousness faded to black as they left with Shaun and she fell back into stasis.

 

Hancock let her speak, only nodding in response as she told her story. When she had finally begun to calm down and her breathing became more even, he offered her a cigarette, which she gladly accepted. Then he went from sitting by her side to the couch across from her. He wanted to give her some space.

 

“And who did that?” he asked, pointing to her shoulder.

 

Scarlet looked away. “It was an accident,” she said swiftly.

 

Hancock wasn't buying it. The way she acted about it he had a feeling, but he didn't want to jump to conclusions. Although he didn't want to be pushy, he could hardly bear the thought of someone else laying their hands on her. And if things had gotten rough on top of that... despite the fact that she wanted to close herself off, Hancock persisted.

 

“I'm not gonna kill anybody,” he assured her. But that wasn't entirely true, and Scarlet probably knew that. She pursed her lips together tightly and crossed her arms.

 

“Look, I ain't out to hurt someone who didn't have it comin',” he pushed. “I'm just aimin' to keep you safe. You feel me?”

 

Scarlet could feel the tears revving up again. She didn't want to cause an unnecessary argument, but she could tell Hancock wasn't going to let up. “MacCready and I were pretty wasted,” she said carefully, still not making eye contact. Hancock shifted uncomfortably in his seat, but let her go on. “He wanted to keep going and I said no.”

 

Hancock's shoulders tensed and he cracked his neck. He sucked hard on his cigarette. Scarlet could see he was worked up. “We both got carried away,” she added, emphasizing the word 'we.'

 

He stood resolutely and paced behind the couch. Scarlet winced at the thought of him bringing his ire down upon MacCready. “We were drunk. It was stupid. Nothing happened.”

 

“You call that nothin'?” He motioned to her shoulder again, then walked over to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a drink. He was fuming over the thought of MacCready's hands on her.

 

“It wasn't his fault,” she said with a pleading glance.

 

Why she insisted on protecting him, he wasn't quite sure, but it infuriated him more. If Scarlet wanted to be with MacCready, he would have to eventually accept it. _Why not?_ He mused. _He's good-looking. She's good-looking._ But the way things had panned out, she obviously didn't want him. At least not yet.

 

There was a long, steady silence. Far too long. Scarlet was sitting with her head in her hands while Hancock stared at nothing, contemplating his course of action. Finally, Scarlet spoke up, almost afraid to let the growing silence last too long. “Just promise me you won't-”

 

She stood up as she spoke, but as she rose her legs buckled and she nearly fell down. She'd had far too much to drink, too much jet, and the emotional release had all but killed her.

 

Hancock swiftly came to her aid and grabbed her by the shoulders, keeping her on her feet. “Whoa there. You alright?”

 

Her head rolled back as she muttered, “Too much to drink...”

 

“You wanna go lie down?”

 

“Mhmm.”

 

Hancock supported her momentarily as she struggled to walk, fumbling forward. Eventually he picked her up and carried her the rest of the way to her room. He savored the feeling of her arms draped around his neck, wishing that her embrace could have been anything else but the result of her drunken stupor.

 

The room was spinning as Hancock laid Scarlet down on her bed and pulled a scrappy blanket over her limp body. “You want some water?” he asked, bringing the blanket just under her chin.

 

“No, I wanna go to sleep,” she slurred.

 

Hancock pulled the glasses away from her face and studied her features as her eyes slowly closed. Her lips were swollen and red, sensuous and inviting. Her eyelashes were still soaked from crying and the skin under her eyes was puffy. The poor thing had been through so much in such a short time. But he didn't pity her – he was beyond pity. He wanted to stop the world for her, to make her feel safe, to hoist all the burdens she was carrying from her slender shoulders and take them on himself.

 

She was so beautiful, so fragile. All he could think about as he watched her drifting off was how badly he wanted to touch her. Just put his hand against her face -

 

His mouth hung open as Scarlet reached out her hand and put her palm against his cheek. _What did his skin feel like?_ She wondered. It was really not much different from anyone elses. The deep scars and lines that snaked over his features created a riveted texture, but it was still soft.

 

She gazed into his eyes, inky yet bright in the darkness of the room. _He's so handsome_ , she thought, and didn't even think it a strange idea anymore. His kindness and steadfast presence were not only calming, but inviting. She felt drawn into him more and more, and found herself terrified at the thought of being without him. Not just because he was safe, but because she wanted him near. She held her hand firmly to his face, not wanting him to go.

 

Hancock's hand was almost trembling as he moved it to cover hers. As he looked back into her hazy eyes, he could feel her tugging against him, drawing him closer. His breath caught in his throat and he followed her subtle instructions, moving in ever so slowly until his lips were almost touching hers.

 

He could feel her erratic breaths against his mouth, felt her pulse quickening through her skin. He was so close to her face that had he still had a nose, it would be touching hers. Being that close to her was a high like nothing else. He couldn't feel the buzz of alcohol and chems that he had consumed earlier that evening, only the heat that coiled its way up his spine and down to the tips of his fingers. The rush had his heart throbbing, and he could feel himself stiffening with need just at the scent of her breath.

 

Just before he leaned in, he paused. She wasn't in her right mind. Without overthinking his next move, he moved his face to the side and away from hers, just letting their foreheads brush gently against each other. Putting his lips to her ear, he whispered, “Get some sleep, Sunshine.”


	5. Strawberries

MacCready pulled the covers over his face as the Third Rail's lights came on. Just outside he could hear the clinking of glasses and the rustling of chairs as Charlie began tidying up the bar. _Shit, is it morning already?_

 

He yawned and stretched, then reached for his cigarettes. _My head_... He massaged his temples. It felt like every vein in his brain was going to burst. For a brief, oblivious moment he sat on the couch, half-dressed and hacking between puffs. Then he remembered last night. He remembered that something had gone down... _Aw shit._

 

Out in the bar came the sound of happy whistling. If anything it made his head hurt even worse. _Damn it, Charlie, shut up!_ Since when had the robot taken up whistling? He thought it was a pretty dumb thing for an automaton to do.

 

Then he heard footsteps heading towards his room. It wasn't Charlie.

 

Heavy boots thudded against the tile. They were swift, purposeful. Angry. The whistling grew louder.

 

Instinctively MacCready pulled a 44 caliber pistol from underneath his pillow, pointing it toward the doorway. He nearly pulled the trigger when he saw Hancock's tricorner hat coming through the frame.

 

“Damn it, Hancock,” he said with relief, standing. “You scared the piss out of me.” He lowered his gun.

 

But Hancock kept walking toward him at full speed, not stopping until he pulled back his fist and connected it with MacCready's jaw.

 

MacCready immediately tasted his own blood as his teeth pierced the inside of his lip. The impact was not only hard but completely unanticipated, causing MacCready to fall to the ground, and the pistol flew from his hand and slid across the floor.

 

He looked up at Hancock, who for his part had pulled out his shotgun and pointed it at MacCready's head. Under normal circumstances, MacCready would have knocked the barrel of the gun away and countered with his own punch to the face. But he just lay there, hand cradling his jaw, staring at the mayor of Goodneighbor looming over him.

 

“That's the only warning you're gonna get,” said Hancock.

 

MacCready spit the blood out that had been pooling in his mouth. “Come again?” he asked. He was pretty sure he knew why he had just been hit, and he was also pretty sure that he deserved it. But his pride wouldn't let him express anything but cool detachment as he lay on the floor.

 

“Everyone is welcome in Goodneighbor, so long as they play nice,” he answered. It was a line MacCready had heard before when the mayor had first let him into town. “But word on the street is, you ain't been playin' very nice.”

 

MacCready was breathing hard from the adrenaline. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and rolled to his hands and knees, preparing to stand. Hancock kept the rifle aimed steadily at the mercenary's head. He was pretty sure MacCready wasn't stupid enough to pull anything, but he was wary just the same. “What'd she tell you?” MacCready spit out.

 

“She didn't have to tell me shit,” he replied. “It was pretty fuckin' obvious.”

 

MacCready recalled the struggle, the way she had fought him, and how he had kept her from leaving. He tried to tell himself he wasn't like that, and he kicked himself when she ran away and left him there holding the torn sleeve of her dress. But what was done was done. He had screwed up and he knew it. There wasn't any point in arguing with Hancock, the man who was letting him lay low in his own bar at the risk of his town's security.

 

“So are you gonna play nice from now on, or are we gonna have a problem?”

 

The despondent merc hung his head. Shame was something he was used to feeling, but not confronting. He had done a lot in his life to be ashamed of, certainly. But having a gun pointed in your face and being made to answer for it was something new. He'd never had a mother and father. No one ever told him what to do. No one ever held him accountable for anything he did, either.

 

MacCready pushed himself onto his feet, careful not to let the tough guy facade fade as he did. “Won't be anymore problems,” was all he could bite out.

 

Hancock took a moment, as if working out the sincerity of his answer. He didn't like having to use corporal punishment against a man he thought of as a friend, a kindred spirit even. But under the circumstances, his hand felt forced. The fact that he had stayed up all night seething didn't help matters.

 

But the ghoul seemed satisfied enough. He dipped his head with finality and lowered his weapon. “Good.”

 

The two men settled into an uneasy silence. MacCready went back to the couch and resumed smoking. Hancock just stood there, still on guard. His anger was much slower to settle.

 

A pregnant pause filled the air. Then Hancock reached into his coat and pulled out a small bag of caps. “Here you go,” he said, tossing the bag in the air.

 

MacCready caught it hesitantly. “What's this for?”

 

“You said you wanted an advance. There it is.”

 

MacCready huffed and nodded, remembering the job he had agreed to. He was annoyed that he had committed to it, especially now that things between him and Scarlet had disintegrated. He felt the need to apologize to her. Things had gotten out of hand, but he hoped there was still some way to salvage their relationship.

 

But now he wouldn't have an opportunity, at least for a while. He jingled the bag of caps in his hand, checking its weight. He definitely needed the money. Scarlet, no matter how important to him, would have to wait.

 

“Now I suggest you get the fuck out of town,” said Hancock. The words struck MacCready with some finality, and he was suddenly unsure if he would be allowed back into Goodneighbor.

 

Hancock turned to leave then paused, looking back over his shoulder. “And don't come back 'til the job's done,” he added.

 

The mayor didn't wait for MacCready to respond. He left before his temper got the better of him. He couldn't tell if the indifference the merc was showing was genuine or part of some act, but it irked him just the same. _Didn't he care?_ He hadn't even asked about her. Didn't act like he regretted anything he had done. Just shrugged his shoulders like he always did and counted out his caps. _Fucking prick._

 

He left the rail and headed back to the Old State House. With any luck Scarlet would still be asleep. He was a little relieved; the job he was sending MacCready to do would probably take a few days. It would give him a chance to spend some uninterrupted time with her and let her work out some of the shit she had been forced to deal with.

 

Hancock lowered his head and sighed, lighting a cigarette, as a guilty thought flashed in his mind. _I hope he doesn't come back at all_.

 

* * *

 

 

Scarlet was wrapped in a peaceful slumber when Hancock checked in on her. He wasn't about to wake her. They had been talking into the early morning hours. He had been too riled up to sleep, though. He stayed up all night popping mentats until he finally had worked himself up enough to drop in on MacCready.

 

He hoped his warning was sufficient to keep the young mercenary on his best behavior. He liked MacCready well enough, and he was handy to have about. Good snipers weren't exactly in plentiful supply.

 

Hancock stood on the balcony of the State House and kept an eye on the streets. Eventually he saw MacCready leaving the Third Rail with his pack and rifle hanging over his shoulder. At least he should be gone long enough to give Scarlet enough time to cool off. Hancock was getting unapologetically protective of the vault-dweller and he wasn't going to hesitate to stand up for her if necessary. But he didn't like it, having to throw his weight around like that, busting heads and pointing guns in peoples' faces, if he didn't have to.

 

A part of him felt sorry for MacCready. After all, Hancock had made his share of drunken mistakes when he was young. But after 51 years – _Damn, am I that old?_ \- and nearly a decade of service as the mayor of Goodneighbor, he wasn't fucking around.

 

Hancock's eyes fixated darkly on MacCready until he finally left through the front gate. He felt an immediate relief at his departure. Taking a hit of jet, he went back inside to check on Scarlet one more time.

 

_Still asleep_. He paced to his parlor and lit a cigarette. He had been chain smoking since dawn. He needed something to do. All he could think about was her. He wanted to be there when she woke up, to reassure and comfort her. He probably should have been out on the streets taking care of business, but he was totally preoccupied.

 

Fahrenheit watched as he fidgeted around the State House. She had been just outside last night, listening, while the little vault-dweller poured her heart out. Normally it would have been fuel for some really interesting gossip, but she pitied the poor girl. She almost felt guilty for listening in, if the story hadn't been so juicy.

 

She had worked with Hancock long enough to tell what was going on. It was kind of pathetic, really. He was acting like a smitten little schoolboy. He was in love with Scarlet, that much was obvious. But whether or not an uptight pre-war brat like that could return the feeling was still up in the air. It wasn't any of her business, but she hoped for the sake of her boss's sanity that this Wolf girl would make up her mind.

 

Fahrenheit took it upon herself to try to get the mayor out of his own head. She wasn't one to pussy-foot around a subject and it had been difficult for her to stay out of things thus far. But if she had to watch him pacing around for one more minute she was liable to jam a knife in his leg.

 

“You're really startin' to piss me off,” she said, entering the parlor and slamming her minigun onto the coffee table. “Get the fuck out of here. I'll let you know when little miss Sunshine wakes up.”

 

“I ain't got shit to do,” he said, but the surprised look on his face betrayed him. Fahrenheit had used his pet name for her on purpose, and his reaction was as unmistakable.

 

“You're not helpin' her by standing around here with your thumb up your ass.”

 

She was right. Hancock scowled and rubbed his forehead. He should have been tired, and he would have been if not for his stubborn desire to be with Scarlet. He wanted to help her, but as long as she was sleeping, acting like a nervous wreck was completely nonproductive. He thought for a moment about what he _could_ do. Something to cheer her up when she got out of bed, maybe. Or something to help keep her safe in the Commonwealth. Anything was better than being idle.

 

“I'm gonna go see KLEO,” he finally resolved. “Then maybe collect my caps from Morowski.”

 

“You do what you gotta.”

 

He was mentally exhausted and could barely remember to grab his gun before leaving. “You'd better say somethin' the minute she wakes up. I don't want her thinking I ran out on her.”

 

“I'll keep an eye out.” She smiled and shook her head. “You know, maybe Finn was right about you goin' soft.”

 

“Damned if my insides ain't mush,” he said lightly. Fahrenheit was trustworthy enough for him to let his guard down in front of her. And she had a knack for being able to see inside his head. It was nice to have her at his back, though, and it felt good that she knew what he was thinking, like he didn't have to go through it alone. After an amenable nod, he stepped out onto the streets of Goodneighbor, visions of Scarlet full in his mind.

 

* * *

 

 

Scarlet didn't wake up until after three that afternoon. She had crashed long enough to sleep through the worst of her hangover, but was still grateful for the purified water and aspirin next to her bed. _You gotta stop doing that,_ she scolded herself. _You're not 20 years old anymore._

 

She wasn't fortunate enough to have blacked out the night before. Everything that had transpired was as fresh and clear as if she had been sober. She regretted her behavior with MacCready, and for admitting to fooling around with him to Hancock. The ghoul was clearly angered, and her heart dropped into her stomach as she realized what he might have done to the man.

 

And she was racked with guilt for worrying Hancock. She could tell he was concerned for her safety. He had been dutifully watching over her since her arrival and had sat patiently by her side while she told him her sob story. He was so attentive and seemed to care so much. She couldn't think of anyone save her own parents who had ever given her so much support.

 

She recalled putting her hand to his face before drifting off. After the... incident... with MacCready, her first thought had been to run to him. She wanted him near. She ached to draw him close. She had wanted to kiss him.

 

Scarlet absent-mindedly hit herself on the leg in frustration thinking about it, then winced at the tenderness that still swelled around her injury. _Had he rejected her?_ They were so close she could almost taste the alcohol on his breath. His scent was earthy and smoky-sweet. She wanted to press her mouth against his and consume him. She wanted to show him her gratitude, to open herself up to him, to let him take whatever he wished.

 

But he had left her there, yearning. She was embarrassed to no end. First nearly seducing MacCready, then turning around and trying to rope in Hancock... she didn't want to get out of bed. But her bladder felt like it was about to burst and she did get up, but only to relieve herself before ducking back into her room.

 

Fahrenheit had heard her footsteps and sent a watchman out to retrieve Hancock. The mayor was practically out of breath when he returned, and she tried to stifle a laugh as she thought of him running back through town.

 

“I heard her taking a piss, then go back to bed,” Fahrenheit told him.

 

“Thanks Fahr,” he said. He tossed her a syringe of psycho before heading in.

 

“No,” she smiled, tucking her favorite chem into her vest. “Thank _you_ boss.”

 

Hancock knocked at her door softly. He could hear the faint static of the radio on her Pip-Boy as she attempted to find a station.

 

He got no reply, just the dial landing on Diamond City Radio. He knocked again, a little louder. “Hey, Sunshine...”

 

“Leave me alone,” she said, trying not to sound too harsh. She pulled her pillow over her face like it would shield her from her own humiliation. _God, he's still trying to be nice._

 

“I know you ain't feelin well, but I got somethin' for ya.”

 

Scarlet almost drowned in her own self-condemnation just then. _More gifts?_ She hadn't done anything to earn them, and probably didn't have the caps to repay him.

 

She was torn between not wanting to offend and not wanting to show her face to anyone. It wouldn't be right to say no after he had gone through the trouble. “Come in,” she said, sliding the pillow from her face and sitting up to meet him.

 

Hancock entered slowly, the door creaking painfully on its hinge. The first thing he did was remove his hat in a disarming gesture and set it on the dresser across the room. There was small burlap sack in his hand which he set down beside it. His eyes never moved from her the whole time. They were completely fastened on hers as he asked, “You doin' any better?”

 

“I'll be okay,” she whispered, flushing under his steady gaze. She had told him everything. More than he had probably wanted to know. She stooped her head in shame. _It wasn't fair to put that all on him like that_. Knowing him, he'd just want to give her more help that she didn't deserve.

 

She was still wearing the same dress from the night before. Scarlet ran her hand over the bare shoulder and cringed, thinking about how she had ruined the nice gift Daisy had given her. Out of the corner of her eye she could see her underwear still hanging on the bed frame and although she was fully clothed, she suddenly felt naked and pulled the blanket over her legs.

 

“Where's MacCready?” It was the first thing she thought to ask.

 

Hancock tried not to scowl when he heard the name. “He left town for a few days,” was his offhand reply.

 

“Is he angry with me?”

 

_Damn it,_ he cursed to himself, _After all that, she still thinks she did something wrong._ His heart ached for her just then. He hoped she hadn't fallen for the young merc, and not just because of his own selfish desires. MacCready would be the one to break her heart if it came down to it. He was a product of the wasteland, and from what he had gathered in his short time knowing the man, pretty cold-blooded. But she cared about him just the same, and Hancock attempted to spare her feelings.

 

“Nah, doll, nothin' like that,” he said, pulling out a cigarette. He instinctively offered it to Scarlet before she grabbed the pack next to her bed and held it up, reminding him that he had given it to her yesterday. “He's out doin' a job for me. Shouldn't be gone too long.”

 

_Not long enough,_ he added to himself.

 

The radio on her Pip-Boy played softly in the background. It was a sad tune and it brought down the mood even more. “I'm sorry about-” she began.

 

“You gotta stop apologizing for things you ain't done,” he cut her off.

 

She swallowed hard and sighed, but seemed to accept the idea. Self-pity wasn't going to get her anywhere. She had a baby to think about, and tried to re-center her mind around the idea of finding him. _You should be worrying about Shaun, not these men._

 

“You want something to eat?” he asked, opening the bag he had brought.

 

Scarlet's stomach hurt and a wave of nausea hit her, but she knew she ought to eat something. “A little,” she said, rubbing her stomach.

 

Hancock tossed her an odd purple fruit that she had never seen before. It was like a giant blackberry. “Mutfruit,” he said as she examined it. Cautiously she took a bite, then another, inhaling deeply with satisfaction at its juicy sweetness. He grabbed a chair and pulled it forward to sit across from her, smiling as she ate.

 

“That's another safe bet out here,” he said. “And it's better than drinking from the river if you're thirsty.”

 

“Is all the water around here that bad?” she asked between bites.

 

“I definitely wouldn't go skinny dippin'.”

 

Scarlet chuckled lightly and Hancock practically beamed. He felt a sense of pride every time he made her laugh.

 

He went on for a moment while she ate, talking about which plants you could eat and which plants would have you heaving up your insides. She was nodding attentively while he spoke. Her eyes were bright and alert. He could tell she was taking everything in and stamping it firmly into memory.

 

“This... mutfruit thing... so good!” she chimed in as she finished the last bite.

 

“Makes a pretty good bottle of moonshine, too. And if you mix it up with mentats just right... the high is unreal.”

 

“Leave it to you to turn a piece of fruit into something bad for you,” she said playfully.

 

“Desperate times, doll. Gotta make the most of what you've got.” He waited patiently for her to finish licking the mutfruit juices from her fingertips. Impure thoughts bombarded him while he watched her. He imagined something else in place of her purple-tinted fingers...

 

“Now I brought somethin' you might like,” Hancock said and got up from his chair, interrupting his own fantasies. He grabbed the sack from the dresser and double-checked its contents. Two items. He pulled the first one from it carefully as he sat back down.

 

Scarlet grasped it gently by the edges as he handed it to her. It was a Silver Shroud comic, and if the cover was any indication it was in pristine condition. Her face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Wow!” she said, her tone becoming serious and excited all at once. “Issue 40, 'The Silver Shroud and The Mistress of Mystery battle the Mechanist!' It's a classic, one of my favorites. I mean, they're all my favorites! Where did you get this?”

 

“Remember I told you about my buddy Kent? The big Shroud fan? I asked him if he wouldn't mind lending it to you. Now I had to cash in a few favors for that. The man doesn't like letting other people handle his collectibles. But I told him you were a fan from before the war-”

 

“Thank you, John!” she squealed, and lunged forward to give him a brief but powerful hug. Hancock tried not to inhale too deeply as he drew in the scent of her hair drifting past his face. Sitting back down on the bed, she looked down at the comic. “I'll take good care of it,” she said, running her hand over the cover tenderly.

 

“I know you will, doll.” He smiled with satisfaction for a moment and watched Scarlet flip through the pages before moving on to his other gift.

 

“I also thought you'd need something better than that little gun you found in the vault.”

 

Scarlet's mind flashed to the night before. _Where had she even left her gun?_ She remembered MacCready removing it. It was probably still laying on his shelf back at the Third Rail.

 

But it seemed she wouldn't need to go back for it. Hancock opened the rest of the bag revealing a pistol, but one quite a bit bigger and perceptively nicer than the 10mm. He held it out in both hands, offering it to her with pride.

 

Scarlet set the comic book down reverently at her side, then reached out for the weapon. She was surprised by its heaviness as it fell into her hands. It was a laser pistol. Military issue, by the looks of it. Any lettering it once had was probably long faded, but it still had a worn star emblem etched into the barrel.

 

“And I thought since you're into all that high-tech stuff, maybe you could mod it. Amp up the power on it or somethin'.”

 

She was overcome by his generosity. She didn't know how many caps the gun was worth, but it was definitely out of her price range. “Where'd you get this?” she asked meekly, looking into his eyes. She hoped he hadn't spent a fortune on it.

 

“KLEO's got just about everything. Gave me a good deal,” he added, noting her hesitation at accepting it.

 

Scarlet closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them, they were brimming with fresh tears that were waiting to burst over over her bottom lids. “Thank you, John.”

 

It was all he could do to stop himself from kissing her right then as he watched a hot tear roll down her cheek. He moved briskly to her side and sat on the bed next to her, placing a protective arm around her shoulders. “Hey hey! No need to cry, Sunshine.” His words were steady and soothing as she leaned her head against his shoulder, letting it fall into the curve of his neck.

 

He put his face against her hair, pulling in a deep, longing breath. _Why does she smell like strawberries?_ He pondered, letting her scent fill his lungs like a cloud of smoke. Her breath was slow and warm against his collar. His heart beat faster, and he wondered if she could feel it hammering in his chest.

 

“You didn't have to do all this for me.”

 

Hancock frowned. There was far more self-deprecation in her voice than he liked. “Hey now,” he began. His free hand drifted over to her face and he slid a steady finger beneath her chin, raising up her face to meet his.

 

Scarlet's breath hitched as their eyes locked. _She's killin' me with those baby blues,_ he thought, staring into them with his own jet black orbs.

 

“I know I didn't _have_ to,” he said, leaving Scarlet to finish his sentence for him.

 

One last tear trickled down her face, following the path its predecessor had left. He followed the trail with his eyes as it traveled over her freckled cheek, curving into the corner of her mouth. Her lips were slightly parted, shallow breaths pushing quietly past them. In that moment, Hancock thought her the loveliest thing he had ever seen. He couldn't help himself as he raised the thumb of the hand beneath her chin and placed it over where her teardrop had settled.

 

Hancock's will unraveled completely. “Scarlet,” he softly exhaled, drawing her inward. He brushed a wisp of hair out of her face, revealing it in its unblemished fullness, before placing his mouth on hers.

 

For a few seconds neither of them moved. Hancock simply rested his lips over hers, hardly exerting any pressure, and taking the time to relish the feeling. His eyelids shut and he focused on the sensation. Her mouth was small but inviting. Her lips were pure silk against his own. They were still slightly open, and he could taste the fruity sweetness of her her breath as it mingled with his own.

 

Scarlet's arms had jumped up in surprise initially, then moved upwards to rest around his neck. Thrilling jolts of passion radiated from her arms into his body and shot into the back of his head, like a liquified box of mentats pouring into his bloodstream all at once. He pressed himself tepidly against her, not wanting to startle her, but knowing that she was returning his desire by her gentle embrace.

 

He cupped his hand against the side of her face and ran his thumb down to the base of her bottom lip, coaxing her to open her mouth. She complied, letting her head fall back and sighing against him. That small noise was enough to drive him mad, but he held back, using what willpower he could summon to avoid pinning her to the bed and ravishing her.

 

Instead he swept his tongue gently over her lips. He was surreptitious at first, just barely reaching out for a taste. _Like strawberries,_ he thought. Maybe sensing that particular flavor was something in his head, or perhaps it was just the lingering flavor of the mutfruit. _No. Strawberries. Definitely strawberries._

 

Not meeting any resistance from his first taste, Hancock slid his tongue slightly deeper into Scarlet's mouth, just enough to graze it over the end of hers. She caught her breath, her head swimming as he skillfully yet gently explored her. He was hesitant, she could tell, and encouraged him by opening her mouth wider, allowing him free reign.

 

Hancock deepened the kiss further and Scarlet, overcoming her shyness, returned it by running her tongue along his. Emboldened, he slid both arms around her waist and held her fast, her heaving breast pressed against him. Her hands clung to his neck, the tips of her fingers sending wave after wave of fire pulsing down his back. He shifted, his cock beginning to harden.

 

And then they pulled away, their trance shattered by the sound of Fahrenheit's fist pounding against the door. It was such a forceful hit the door rattled in its frame.

 

“Hey boss!” She yelled. “Get out here. You got visitors.”

 

Hancock stared at Scarlet in bewilderment. She was still there in his arms. He almost couldn't believe what had just happened.

 

He cocked his head to the side and yelled halfway over his shoulder. “Tell 'em to come back later!” He kept his eyes locked with hers as he said it, not wanting to avert his gaze should she disappear while he wasn't looking. Scarlet was still breathing heavily from the intensity of their kiss. She looked just as bewildered, if not more so. But her blue eyes were still sparkling with passion. Her lips had turned bright red and beckoned Hancock to return.

 

He was only too happy to oblige the invitation and leaned in to reclaim her mouth.

 

“It wasn't a suggestion!” Fahrenheit's voice was spiked with alarm.

 

Hancock pulled back from Scarlet and rolled his eyes. _God damn it. Why the fuck did it have to be now?_

 

She stared at him longingly as he wrestled with himself, finally grabbing her hands and placing them gently on her lap. “You wait. Right. Here.” Hancock grabbed his hat, then gave her a quick kiss on the forehead as he tore himself from her side. He lamented leaving her even for a moment. After all that, he was determined not to let her out of his sight. Whatever this shit was, he would deal with it quickly.

 

He swung the door open and stepped out. Fahrenheit stood outside, arms crossed impatiently. Before speaking in more detail he closed the door behind him, securing Scarlet inside. Then he headed into his parlor, his bodyguard at his heels.

 

“There's some Gunners at the front gate looking for MacCready. I tried to tell 'em he wasn't here but they said they're not leaving without him.”

 

Hancock couldn't help but curse MacCready for ruining things yet again. “What do they want with him?” he asked, irritated. He picked up his shotgun and began loading it.

 

“Caps. Blood. I don't know. But they said they wouldn't leave without talking to the mayor first.”

 

Hancock sighed. _Son of a bitch_. He straightened his tricorner hat. He had to put out another fire, and for that arrogant little mercenary, too.

 

Scarlet had waited until she heard the front door slam before daring to get up. Part of her wanted to follow Hancock's orders and wait in her room, but her curiosity got the better of her. She ran to the window overlooking Goodneighbor's front gate. It was wide open, and she peeked out over the sill and listened.

 

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Hancock strode up to the band of four men that awaited him. His hands hung loosely at his sides, confidently ignoring the fact that three of them had their hands on their guns. Fahrenheit walked just behind Hancock, aiming her minigun at them with detached confidence.

 

“Well well, the mayor of Goodneighbor finally decides to grace us with his presence.” A hard-looking man with a coif of brown hair stood in front of the group, crossing his arms. “Just looking for that rat bastard MacCready. You haven't seen him around here, have you?” he asked, his voice dripping with irony.

 

“Now that you mention it I have,” Hancock replied, with an attitude of his own. “Saw him leaving town earlier. Said something about not wanting to wake up with a dick in his ass, packed up his shit and left.”

 

“Hmph,” was the Gunner's only response. He rolled his shoulders back and cracked his neck. “Did he say where he was goin'?”

 

“Now that I can't tell ya,” Hancock said with mock regret. “Afraid he left without tellin' anyone. You can check out his room if you want,” he offered sincerely, “But you're probably not gonna find anything. He's a devious little bastard.” Scarlet listened to their exchange. She felt like the last bit came out a little too truthfully.

 

“I think it's in your best interest if you tell us where he went. You don't wanna piss off the Gunners now, do you?”

 

Hancock scoffed. “I don't give a shit about your little cult.” The Gunner in front of him hocked and spit, clenching his fists. “And,” the mayor went on, “I think it's in _your_ best interest for you and your lady friends here to turn your asses around and walk out of Goodneighbor. You don't wanna piss off Fahrenheit here, do ya?” He gestured at the woman with his thumb. “She's hopped up on psycho and has a pretty itchy trigger finger.”

 

Fahreneheit snorted and raised her gun. The Gunners drew their weapons and aimed their sights at the mayor. The Gunner leading the pack tried to stare him down, but Hancock didn't even flinch. His hands were clasped in front of him and he rocked back on his heels. “Now I suggest you turn around and go back the way you came. You don't wanna start a fight with the mayor of Goodneighbor now, do ya?”

 

The Gunners waited for orders from their leader. As the confrontation had been brewing, more and more townspeople had come out to gawk. But Goodneighbor residents weren't the type to stand around and stare helplessly. Most of them had drawn their weapons. If it came down to a firefight, they'd be ready, and the Gunners were clearly outmatched.

 

“Thanks for all your help,” the man said. He was overly-sarcastic at this point, covering up for the fact that he had overplayed his hand. “You just let us know if he comes back. Who knows? There might be a pile of caps in it for ya.”

 

Hancock's stance shifted slightly, but he was flat with his reply. “I'll keep that in mind.”

 

“We'll be back.” The Gunner signalled for his cohorts to lower their weapons. They did so grudgingly, filing back out of the gate. “And there'll probably be more of us,” he added. Then he followed his troops, closing the city's door angrily behind him.

 

Scarlet had waited with baited breath. _Who were these men? What did they want with MacCready?_ She had flinched when they pointed their weapons at Hancock. She feared for him then, hoping he would handle things without resorting to violence. But she still found him unpredictable. He had killed a man in cold blood when they first met. Then he had been greeted with applause by the locals when he swaggered into the bar. He said he didn't want to hurt anyone who didn't deserve it, but Scarlet was learning rapidly what 'deserving it' really meant out here. If you looked at someone the wrong way, you might end up with a bullet in your chest.

 

After they had gone, she let out a long breath. Thankfully the situation hadn't escalated. But she drummed her fingers nervously against the wall, watching as Hancock pulled his men around him. She couldn't hear what he was saying, but his gestures were brief and his face was serious as he addressed them.

 

After a close call when she was sure Hancock had nearly spotted her at the window, she decided to go back to her room. She smoked a cigarette and flipped through the Silver Shroud comic while she waited for him to return.

 

Without thinking, her fingertips darted to her mouth. She could still feel the pressure of his lips. They had been softer than she anticipated... thin, but definitely not absent. His tongue was warm and velvety against hers. He had been a little reserved, and his hesitation was almost endearing. But Scarlet had invited him to take more of her. The feeling of his hand against her face had utterly destroyed her, and the heady taste of him penetrated her to her core. His essence lingered in her mouth still as she lay back on the mattress, silently begging for him to come back and wrap his arms around her once more.

 

She tossed and turned, trying to settle her thoughts. She flipped on the radio and tried to tune herself out. But he was at the forefront of her mind. And it wasn't unpleasant. Just thinking about Hancock was an indescribable rush.

 

Scarlet let the interaction play out in her head over and over again, not wanting to let the feeling slip away from her as she eventually fell into a dreamy slumber.


	6. A Real Wastelander

Scarlet tried on a couple pairs of pants before settling. If she was going to be wearing them all over the Commonwealth, they'd better fit right.

 

Daisy made the occasional comment as Scarlet labored over her choice. It was fun. Reminded her of going out shopping with the girls before the war.

 

“I mean I like the way these fit...” Scarlet turned around for Daisy. There wasn't a full-length mirror, so she relied on the ghoul's feedback.

 

“Makes your butt look nice.” Daisy sat on top of her bureau, arms folded.

 

“But it's leather. I mean, leather gets hot.” Scarlet rubbed her hands along her thighs, testing the material. “I feel like it's a lot hotter now than it was before the war.”

 

“Yeah, but it gets cold at night,” Daisy replied firmly. “If you're running around out there and you have to sleep in a house with three walls missing, and you _will_ , you're gonna freeze your tits off wearing anything else.” Scarlet laughed heartily. “And besides, winter'll be here soon. You'll be wishin' you were wearing two pair.”

 

Scarlet poked her rear end out, the way she would have if she were posing for her reflection. She pivoted at the waist as much as she could and felt content with the way the garment hugged her curves. “My butt _does_ look pretty good,” she said with finality.

 

“Alright, then.” Daisy's eyes made a head to toe pass. “Now you're startin' to look like a real wastelander.”

 

Scarlet gave herself a once-over. Daisy wanted her to have something she could wear every day. And the armor she had ordered just came in. She wanted to get the girl outfitted and make sure everything was in good shape. Scarlet had chosen a red flannel that was closer to her size and much more flattering than her previous issue. The left sleeve was missing at the elbow, but she thought it fitting as it allowed her to access her pip-boy. Over that she wore a brown leather vest. Daisy emphasized wearing leather not just for its warmth but for its protection. “Especially good for keeping the bloodbugs from suckin' on ya.” Scarlet felt a ball forming in the pit of her stomach while she listened to Daisy describing the giant mosquitoes.

 

A pair of knee-high combat boots were laced over her pants. She felt empowered by her new clothes, ready for anything. And it didn't hurt that they were pretty sexy, too. _I can't wait to show John..._ She tried not to blush thinking about it.

 

“I got you leather armor, too,” Daisy added.

 

“What is it with you and leather? Do you have a fetish or something?” Scarlet teased.

 

“Well it's not like you can carry much with them skinny little arms.” She grabbed her by the wrist and gave her arm a vigorous shake. “Leather's not too heavy. If you have to run away, you're better off wearing something you can actually move in.”

 

Daisy helped Scarlet into her new armor. She tugged at each piece, making adjustments as she saw necessary. Once everything was in place, Daisy stood back and smiled with satisfaction. “Lookin' pretty good, darlin'.”

 

“Thank you,” Scarlet beamed.

 

“Now all we gotta do is get rid of that hair and you'll look like a real badass mercenary bitch.”

 

“What, like Fahrenheit?” she asked with a giggle.

 

“Yeah, like Fahrenheit!” Daisy responded, somewhat patronizing. “You don't see anybody messin' with her, do you?”

 

“No, but she's also got that gun.”

 

“Well lookin' the part is half the battle. If you can avoid a fight just by lookin' mean enough, by all means, do it. The best way to win a fight is by not gettin' in a fight in the first place.”

 

Scarlet dipped her head in affirmation. She reached up to grasp her ponytail, thinking how she wouldn't mind getting rid of it. All that hair did little more than get in her way.

 

“You're lookin' pretty badass already,” Daisy said.

 

“You think so?” Scarlet said rhetorically. “What do you think John will have to say about it?”

 

“I think he'll say somethin' about how lucky he is to have such a well-dressed partner in crime.” Hancock's voice rang in from outside the shop, making his way inside. He stood in the doorway and ogled Scarlet, letting out a slow whistle.

 

Scarlet's blush was painfully obvious on her pale face. “I was wondering when you were gonna wake up. You hit the bottle too hard last night?” she jabbed. She had woken up that morning and looked for him, finding a note at her bedside instead.

 

_Sorry I had to leave last night. Had to take care of some security issues. I'll see you in the morning, Sunshine._

 

_-John_

 

She was angry at herself for falling asleep, but figured she probably needed it. Scarlet was finally beginning to feel mended from her initial Commonwealth confrontations, and she had awoken refreshed with renewed purpose. Finding John asleep on the couch, she let him be and tiptoed out the door, taking her laser pistol to the roof of the warehouse and getting some practice in before dropping in on Daisy.

 

“You're one to talk. After two hundred years of sleepin' you still sleep more than anyone I've ever seen.” John grinned broadly.

 

“I just forgot to take my mentats yesterday.”

 

Daisy could feel the radiant mood between the two. _Had they hooked up?_ She wondered. _It's not like I didn't see it comin'..._

 

“You want somethin' to eat?” asked Hancock.

 

“I'm starving,” she replied. He motioned for her to join him and they left the shop. “Thanks again Daisy!” she called out behind her.

 

“You better watch her ass, John,” she yelled after the pair.

 

“As if I could tear my eyes away...” Scarlet giggled and grabbed his arm.

 

_Yep. Definitely hooked up_.

 

* * *

 

 

 

She couldn't help but feel a little awkward while they ate. He hadn't said anything about what happened yesterday. For her part, it was all she could think about. But she was struggling to read the ghoul in front of her, who continued making ribald comments and shoot the shit as if they hadn't shared that kiss at all. _Did it mean anything to him?_ She pondered.

 

Hancock was popular with the women of Goodneighbor, that much was apparent. And she was mature enough to figure out why. John was a hedonist. He lived for the moment, throwing caution to the wind, getting drunk and high on a nightly basis. Women were probably part of the routine as well.

 

But the past few days he had rarely left her side. She hadn't seen him doting on anyone else. _Maybe he's serious._

 

Scarlet quickly second-guessed the idea. He was a very private man. When he did choose to share bits of himself, he was always keeping his cards close to his chest. She really knew very little about who he really was. John Hancock was almost certainly not his real name.

 

And she had shared everything with him. Her thoughts drifted to a dark place as she mulled it over... Maybe it was how he got women to lower their defenses. Make them feel safe. Buy them a few gifts. Let them open themselves up just enough so he could worm his way in.

 

She tried to shake the idea, but it bothered her. Scarlet wanted get inside his head and figure out what was going on. Perhaps she would try to ask him later after a drink.

 

“So you got armor, you got a gun, you're ready to take on the Commonwealth,” Hancock said. They were sitting in the Hotel lounge, enjoying a cigarette after a large meal. “It's about time we got you out for some real-world experience.”

 

Scarlet panicked inwardly. She knew she had to get out there sometime. But was it too soon? “Do you think I'm ready?” she asked him timidly.

 

“Nobody's ever ready,” he said dryly. “But you gotta face it sometime.” Scarlet looked down at her hands and bit her lip; her body was beginning to quake with apprehension. “You still plannin' on goin' to Diamond City, right?”

 

“Yeah. I mean, I have to start somewhere.”

 

“Well you're in luck then. Just so happens I got a little bit of a mutant problem. They set up shop in Trinity Tower which, coincidentally, is halfway between here and Diamond City. You help me clear 'em out, and you got yourself a nice safe route to the great green jewel of the Commonwealth.”

 

She wasn't sure how to respond. Hancock saw her fidgeting with her hands. She obviously had her doubts. But he was determined to make a survivor out of her. He had already made the resolution to follow her into the wastes, even though he hadn't told her his intentions yet. But if something were to happen to him, he wanted to be certain she could make her own way. There were no certainties in the Commonwealth except death. And he wanted to prepare her.

 

Part of him wanted to lock her away in the Old State House and never let her out. He felt confident he could defend her against anything so long as she was in Goodneighbor. However, he knew the idea wasn't reasonable. She had a mission and a purpose that went beyond him, and it would be the epitome of selfishness to keep her from it.

 

Hancock reached out and grabbed her hand. It trembled slightly in his, and he gave her a reassuring smile. “It's alright, doll. I won't let anything bad happen to ya.”

 

She smiled back at him, but it was strained. “And those super mutants are easy targets,” he added. “They're really big and seriously fucking stupid. You'll have no problem handling 'em.”

 

Scarlet assured herself that Hancock wouldn't be leading her into a death trap. “Alright,” she said, more confidently than she felt. She would have to continue to put her faith in him. Whether or not she could gain the skills she needed to see her baby again was a matter completely dependent upon his guidance.


	7. Curtain Call

“ _Help! Or, mayday! Or whatever it is one says on the radio. My name is Rex Goodman. I'm being held prisoner at the top of_ _T_ _rinity_ _T_ _ower. I think the super mutants plan on eating me soon. I'm setting this to repeat. Oh, sh-”_

 

The message was replaced by static.

 

“Guess it was pretty fortunate that we happened by,” muttered Hancock.

 

Scarlet felt the icy grip of fear enveloping the back of her neck. They had a captive. It took a situation that was merely dangerous and raised the stakes to a new level entirely. She had received the distress call, so she felt obligated to answer it. At least she didn't need to persuade Hancock, who agreed readily to the task.

 

“You gonna be alright, doll?” Scarlet was clutching her chest, fending off a panic attack. “You want some jet? Looks like you might need it.”

 

She shook her head. She wanted to keep her senses unobstructed. If her terror became paralytic, she would reconsider. For now, it would have to come down to mind over matter.

 

“Don't sweat it,” Hancock tried to reassure her as they neared the tower. Scarlet looked up at its height, getting a sudden hit of vertigo. “Just stay close to me.”

 

As they crept closer, Hancock kept his shotgun at the ready. He was slowing his pace but still meandered boldly to the tower's base. “Now personally, I like to run into a fight and start exploding heads. But you might wanna find some cover.”

 

No sooner had he said those words than the crack of a gunshot reverberated in the empty streets. Scarlet promptly fell to the ground and crawled her way to a concrete construction barrier. Hancock hadn't even blinked, charging into the tower like a man possessed. She followed after him, but at a distance, as he baited the resident mutants with his confident swagger.

 

Two more gunshots pierced the air as she saw the thing descending the steps of the tower's lobby. It was hideous. It reminded her of the dog that had bitten her days before – green skin, abnormal size, instant aggression. Even from a distance, she could see a big blue vein throbbing out of the creature's neck.

 

The combination of fear and disgust turned her stomach and nausea rose in her throat. She fought it down and kept her eyes on Hancock. She watched as he evaded the end of the super mutant's gun, then shot it point blank in the head.

 

The creature's body hit the ground with a massive thud. Scarlet peered from behind a desk in the lobby where she had moved her cover. _Was it dead?_ She thought about shooting it in the head once more for good measure, but more gunshots began to ricochet around her, striking the steel wall behind her and creating tiny showers of sparks.

 

Two more mutants lumbered down the steps, one with a homemade pipe rifle, the other carrying a giant board accented with rusty nails and barbed wire. They honed in on the ghoul, who didn't show any fear at being overtaken by the two giants.

 

Scarlet summoned her courage. If he fell, she would fall with him. She leaned over the desk, holding her laser pistol firmly in her outstretched hands. She breathed deeply, trying to imagine herself on the warehouse rooftop shooting beer bottles.

 

One. Two.

 

The first target died the moment the laser seared its way into the beast's skull. She had hesitated too much on the second. The shot ended up landing non-lethally in its forearm.

 

But it was just enough to make the mutant drop its weapon. It gave a primal wail of pain and clutched the afflicted limb, giving Hancock plenty of time to finish him off with a shotgun shell to the face.

 

“Good shootin', Wolfie!”

 

Scarlet took a moment to catch her breath. On the floors above her, she could hear muffled shouts and a few errant gunshots, but the immediate threat appeared to be over. “Jesus fucking Christ!” Swearing was the only suitable release after what had just happened.

 

The pair rejoined, Hancock stepping over the bodies of the two mutants as he closed the distance. Scarlet took a few shaky steps forward. The first mutant that had fallen was just in front of her, face down on the floor. There was a gaping exit wound on the back of its head, but an irrational part of her mind didn't trust the fact that it had truly died.

 

Curiosity overrode her trepidation, however, and she knelt down to examine the body. “Fascinating...” she mumbled as she studied the creature.

 

“I guess you could say that,” said Hancock, waiting patiently for her to finish her assessment.

 

The noise in the tower had all but died out. Scarlet craned her head. Flecks of sunlight shined through various lesions in the decaying structure.

 

Hancock mirrored her and scanned the area above him. “It's a long way to the top,” he said. “I don't know if I wanna take the stairs. Probably couldn't even if we tried.”

 

“There's an elevator shaft,” Scarlet said, nodding towards the undamaged pillar in the center of the lobby. As they went to take a look, it was clear that there wasn't any power running to the system.

 

Scarlet darted back to the desk where she had been hiding earlier. “There's a terminal! I bet you I can get that thing to work.”

 

“If anyone can do it, I'm sure it's you.” Hancock didn't sound very confident as Scarlet's fingers clacked against the keyboard.

 

“Just gotta reroute the power is all. It's not that hard.”

 

“Says you.”

 

Just seconds later Scarlet shouted in triumph. “There!”

 

The elevator panel flickered to life. A mechanical whirring came from above their heads and descended down the shaft. The doors opened with a ding.

 

Hancock clucked his tongue. “I'll be damned. You really do know your shit.”

 

Scarlet soaked up the compliment. She was thrilled to have applied herself in a way that was not only useful but necessary. She holstered her pistol and swung her hips as she entered the elevator. “Guess I do have some skills.” A haughty grin was splashed across her face.

 

“I gotta hand it to ya.” Hancock said, right on her heels.

 

Scarlet selected the highest floor available. The surface beneath them shook, a little too violently for her liking, but they began traveling upwards.

 

Suddenly the lights in the car began to flicker. A guttural voice came booming over the intercom, making them both jump. “You only kill the weakest of us. It only makes us stronger!”

 

Scarlet and Hancock locked eyes. It was like something out of a horror film. “What in the hell?” the ghoul muttered.

 

His surprise wasn't very reassuring to Scarlet, who was holding onto the car's interior railing with a white-knuckled grip.

 

“You fight well for humans. Now you will die like humans.”

 

The elevator's movement began to slow, finally crawling to a halt on the topmost floor of the shaft. The tile beneath them shook one last time as the car settled.

 

“My warriors are waiting for you.”

 

_Ding!_

 

The doors opened slowly. The flickering light had evened itself back out. For the moment they could hear nothing. The silence was even more terrifying than the voice had been.

 

“I'm not tryin' to scare you doll,” said Hancock, his unsteady breaths belying his calm tone. “But I ain't never heard a super mutant talk like that.”

 

Like a hailstorm, bullets and shells came raining down over their heads. They ducked instinctively. Hancock slid out of the elevator and cocked his gun. Meanwhile Scarlet slinked behind a counter and tried to wait out the barrage.

 

Hancock was eager to meet them head on, however, and jumped into the fray, taking out two of them before pausing to reload.

 

Scarlet watched him anxiously as several more closed in around him. “Shit, shit, shit!” She drew her laser pistol and did her best to steady her shaking hands before firing off several rounds. In her effort to avoid hitting Hancock, the shots ended up being mostly misses, but a couple mutants had been injured.

 

It gave Hancock all the time he needed as he fired shot after shot. The way he avoided getting hit himself was miraculous to her. One by one they picked the mutants off, working together to clear the area.

 

It was obvious by looking out the window they were only halfway up the tower. Scarlet found another elevator and another terminal and began working furiously to get it operational.

 

“This one should take us to the top,” she said as the doors opened.

 

She tried to catch her breath during their journey to the top, but her brief repast was interrupted by the voice on the intercom crackling through once again. “You fight almost as good as a super mutant! Maybe we will put you in a cage with Strong and Rex.”

 

_Another captive?_ Scarlet's throat formed a hard lump that made it impossible for her to swallow. She didn't want to be added to the list.

 

“We got this,” said Hancock. His bravado would have been inspiring had she not thought him completely mad.

 

Another gang of mutants awaited them as they left the safety of the elevator. Scarlet hugged the walls as she trailed Hancock around the top of the tower, doing her best to give him some backup while avoiding taking a bullet.

 

There were no accessible stairs to reach the rooftop. The only way up was a piece of the ceiling that had caved in, creating a ramp. As they had been fighting their way up, the sky was darkening, and not just from the onset of evening. Swirling gray clouds loomed above their heads. The two were exposed to the shrieking wind as a light rain began to fall.

 

Hancock and Scarlet both reloaded their weapons. “There's probably a big bastard up there,” he said, grunting with effort while forcing the bullets into the chamber. “I'm gonna draw him out. You take this.” He pulled a bottle from his pack. It smelled like fuel and had an oily rag hanging from its mouth.

 

“A Molotov cocktail?” she asked.

 

“When I tell you, I want you to light it and chuck it at his fat ugly head.” He had completed loading his gun and looked her in the eye. “You still got that lighter?”

 

She gave an affirmative bob of her head and pulled it from her pocket.

 

“Alright. I'm goin' in.”

 

Scarlet kept her distance and watched him, scarcely breathing. He climbed up the ramp which was growing slicker from the constant drizzle. “Hey you stupid asshole!” he yelled. He fired his weapon, seemingly at nothing, as a mutant sporting a minigun heaved around the corner.

 

The beast screamed and began firing wildly, the spray of bullets narrowly missing Hancock who rolled out of the way just in time.

 

“Light him up!”

 

Scarlet rubbed her thumb against the flint and the resulting spark was enough to set the handmade explosive aflame. She hurled it with every ounce of strength at the creature, praying that she had the range to hit it.

 

The bottle shattered against its chest. Lighter fluid sprayed over its skin. The reaction was instantaneous. Fire sprang up over its head, neck, and arms. The gun fell from its grip and it shrieked in pain, waving around in a vain attempt to extinguish itself.

 

The scent of burning flesh was acrid and unmistakable. The super mutant let out one final cry and, unable to escape the flames, threw itself over the edge of Trinity Tower and to its death.

 

Scarlet ran to Hancock's side. He was laying against a concrete block. His lack of movement was disconcerting as she latched onto his arm. “John! Are you okay?”

 

“I'm fine, doll,” he said and leaned forward. “Just got the wind knocked out of me.”

 

“Come on,” she said while pulling him to his feet.

 

Hancock regained his composure and followed her up the ramp. Capping the old tower was a makeshift prison, likely of super mutant design. A man with a white mustache and hair clung to the caged door, shivering in the increasing downpour. He wore a suit and tie and looked completely out of place. _Was he hurled into the future, too?_ She wondered briefly.

 

“Oh, beneficent bard! A rescuer!” he cried dramatically.

 

“Rex?” She asked, striding urgently toward him. Hancock was busy going through the contents of the mutant general's steamer trunk, grabbing whatever he found useful and stowing it in his pack.

 

“You're the first person who answered my distress call to _actually_ make it to my cage! I think the super mutants killed and ate the others.”

 

She cringed at the thought. “Let's get you out of here,” she said. “Where's the key?”

 

“Uh, somewhere on that desk, I think.” Rex pointed behind her.

 

Scarlet retrieved the key and went to unlock the cage when right behind the old man appeared a super mutant. The key fell to her feet and she reached for her pistol, drawing it on the monster. She nearly fired when Rex put his hands up.

 

“No no! This is Strong. He's not like the others.”

 

“More of my brothers will be here soon,” said Strong. He was calm, the only movement being the rise and fall of his ribcage as he breathed. He didn't have the same feral look in the eye that the others did. “They know humans are attacking the tower.”

 

Scarlet lowered her weapon and bent down to pick up the key. “Just let us out of here, please!” said Rex.

 

She was reluctant to open the cell door, but didn't want to risk being set upon by more mutants while she tried to make up her mind. Hancock had watched the interaction with bemusement while he dug through the trunk.

 

“We need to get out of here before they come back,” said Rex. He and Strong picked up their confiscated weaponry, which had been resting just outside their prison cell. Rex grabbed his pistol, and Strong slung a giant sledgehammer over his shoulder and then retrieved a makeshift pipe rifle “Follow Strong, he knows the best way down.”

 

“This way, humans.”

 

Scarlet could feel the rooftop rippling with his every step. Even though Rex had shared a cell with him and vouched for his character, she was extremely wary and kept him at a comfortable distance.

 

Hancock had finished his looting and came to stand beside her. “That's something I never thought I'd see,” he said. Rex and Strong had already taken off, and Scarlet reconsidered the idea of accompanying them down. “I'd stay close to that meat shield if I were you.” Hancock's voice was matter-of-fact. The situation was undoubtedly bizarre, but she finally settled on the idea that this Strong character wouldn't attack her.

 

Strong took them to a construction elevator on the side of the building. Scarlet nearly fainted as she looked over the edge and saw just how high up she was. The wind and rain were picking up. Every instinct told her not to get in that rickety contraption, but the stirring of mutants bursting onto the rooftop was sufficient to persuade her.

 

The elevator began its slow descent. But they were far from safe; mutants on various levels shot at them through the crumbling walls. Scarlet began to panic, feeling trapped and helpless, and sat rather openly in the line of fire.

 

But Strong stepped up. He was a pretty good shot with his rifle. To her relief, he attracted the majority of the gunfire and left several bodies in his wake.

 

They were only halfway down the tower when the construction elevator stopped. “There's another one on the other side of the building,” Rex said, pushing his way past them. “Follow me!”

 

Scarlet trailed behind, struggling to keep up. The steel was slick beneath her feet and even in her boots, she was having trouble maintaining her traction. When they reached the other elevator, the men had clambered on before her. Terrified of being left behind, she surged forward and dove in after them.

 

Then she tripped, her foot wedging in between the rooftop and the construction elevator. It twisted as she toppled over, and there was a sickening crack of bone before the pain of it hit her.

 

“Scarlet!” Hancock called out. As soon as he saw her face contorting in a hard grimace, he knew she had been hurt bad. He held out his arms to catch her and she fell into them with a sharp cry. Rex scrambled to hit the button and begin their slow crawl to the bottom of Trinity Tower.

 

Hancock shielded her from further injury while they floated down. Most of the mutants had retreated, and it was easy pickings for Strong to as he slaughtered the remaining warriors. Bullet casings flew through the air while he kept his finger glued to the trigger. He held it down until the automatic rifle had expended every last projectile. His kinsmen were all dead, apart from the ones who had managed to escape.

 

Hancock almost overflowed with relief when the elevator made landfall at the base of the tower. His ears were ringing from the firefight, but the danger was over, and they had managed to escape unharmed.

 

Well, mostly.

 

Scarlet tried to suppress her whimpers but found it difficult. “I got you, Sunshine.” Hancock stooped down and picked her up, carrying her back inside the lobby where they could be protected from the rain.

 

Rex and Strong followed them in. “Thank you for that timely rescue,” said Rex, adjusting his tie. “I hope your companion is not too gravely injured.”

 

Hancock laid her back against the wall and knelt next to her. She sucked her breath through gritted teeth as her left foot made contact with the floor. “She'll live,” he said, not bothering to look at the man. He began untying the laces of her boot and tugged at it, eliciting a yelp as she jerked her leg away.

 

“We gotta get this off before we have to cut it off later.” His voice was authoritative and firm, but his eyes were soft. He tugged once more, pulling it down and away from her foot. Scarlet closed her eyes and shut her mouth tight, holding her breath. Once she was freed he cast the shoe aside and began to inspect her broken foot.

 

“All part of an average day for you Commonwealth folk,” said Rex.

 

“What the hell were you doin' up there anyway?” Hancock asked, his back still facing Rex disdainfully. They had gone through all this trouble to rescue him, after all. He couldn't help but blame the idiot for Scarlet's injury.

 

“If you must know, I was attempting to teach those super mutants human culture. Trying to civilize them.”

 

“And how exactly did you go about accomplishing that goal there, Rex?” Hancock bit out sarcastically.

 

“I thought if they could just experience the majesty of Shakespeare, it would change them forever.” Rex puffed his chest up a little. “And who better to open their eyes to the wonders of the Bard than Rex Goodman, the foremost actor in the world?”

 

“If you're so famous how come I've never heard of ya?” Hancock snapped. Scarlet stifled a laugh, briefly forgetting the pain.

 

“I have a distinguished career in radio at WRVR,” he boasted. “Which I will be resuming now that I am free from my prison. In any event, I am quite grateful.”

 

Hancock let it go. At least he had bothered to say thank you.

 

“Now if you'll excuse me, I think it's time to leave this awful place.”

 

The old man left, disappearing into the rain-soaked ruins. _What a weirdo. And I know a thing or two about weirdos._ He re-focused on Scarlet. He felt pretty damn guilty just then. He had promised to watch out for her. He had assured her she was ready. He could tell she hadn't wanted to go, but he had pulled her along anyway. And now he was regretting it.

 

“You handled yourself pretty well back there, sister.”

 

He meant it sincerely, but Scarlet was dubious of her performance. They may not have been keeping score, but she had felt pretty useless watching Hancock clearing the way up the tower. “If you say so.”

 

“I mean it. You kept your cool when things got outta hand. You watched my back. And you got outta there without gettin' killed.”

 

“Yeah,” she said through a hiss, “All those bullets flying at my head and I break my foot tripping over my own feet.”

 

“I'm no expert, but this looks like something Dr. Amari's gonna have to fix.”

 

Scarlet nodded. It was already starting to turn a frightening shade of indigo. “God it fucking hurts. It's worse than getting shot.”

 

Hancock reached into his pack and removed a syringe. “Want some med-ex?” he offered.

 

She hesitated. That was one chem she didn't care to mess around with too much. But the pain was unreal. “Yeah, I'll take some. Not too much though. Just half a dose.”

 

Hancock then took out his flask, using some of its contents to sterilize the needle before taking a swig for himself. Then he held it out to Scarlet, inviting her to drink.

 

“Quit trying to get me fucked up...” she attempted to joke but leaned her head back. Beads of sweat began to drip from her forehead and she bit her lip, practically writhing with the agony.

 

Hancock readied the needle. “Where do you want it?”

 

“Here,” she mouthed, pointing to her arm.

 

Hancock took hold of her wrist and turned the underside of her right arm up to face him. He pressed his fingers into the crook of her elbow, searching for a vein. Once he found it he slid the needle in expertly. Scarlet's whole body melted onto the floor after only a few seconds. “Mmm... Much better.” The crease in her brow disappeared and she smiled, closing her eyes.

 

Hancock listened to the rain. He thought it sounded like it was letting up. He wasn't sure how he was going to get her back to Goodneighbor, but get her back he would, even if he had to carry her the whole way.

 

When Rex had left, Hancock assumed Strong had followed him. But the super mutant was still there in the Trinity Tower lobby, waiting for the ghoul to finish tending to the young lady. Hancock started at the sight of the giant hovering in the corner. _What the fuck was this guy still doin' here?_

 

Strong saw his incredulous look and stepped forward. “Ghoul good fighter,” he said.

 

Hancock laughed out loud. “Well thanks, big guy.” _I can dig this,_ he thought. _Just another kind of freak._ “What are you still doin' hangin' around here?” He held his shotgun limply and walked towards him, not sensing any kind of hidden threat. He was probably too dopey to deceive anybody. Super mutants weren't famous for their intellects.

 

“Go find milk of human kindness with Strong,” he said, as if it were obvious.

 

_The hell?_ “Milk of human kindness?”

 

“It's Shakespeare you idiot!” yelled Scarlet. Her eyes were still closed and she giggled before collapsing flat on her back.

 

“Mack Beth say milk make humans strong. Stronger than super mutants. Strong find milk. Drink milk. Make super mutants stronger than humans.”

 

“Uh... okay...”

 

“Strong stay with ghoul. Strong go with ghoul to find milk of human kindness.”

 

Hancock grinned at the kooky super mutant in front of him. He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “You know, you should come with me to Goodneighbor. I think you might fit in pretty well there.”

 

“Goodneighbor have milk?” he insisted.

 

“I don't know if you're gonna find what you're lookin' for, but that's where we're headed.” He cocked his head toward Scarlet. “Not that she's very heavy or anything, but it's a long walk. Maybe you could help me out and carry her there.”

 

“Strong help ghoul.” He sounded enthusiastic as he bounded over to the woman still stretched out on the floor. Hancock was grateful she was stoned out of her mind as the super mutant gathered her into his arms. He checked her foot again, making sure Strong would take care not to accidentally bump it. “We go find milk now?”

 

“I'm not makin' any promises, but you can look for it when we get to Goodneighbor.”

 

The trio set off into the night. Strong went on about milk for a few more minutes. _Why's he so obsessed with this shit?_ Hancock wondered.

 

“I don't think I have any milk left, but you can try,” slurred Scarlet, her head bobbing up. She cupped her breast and giggled, then winked at Hancock.

 

Hancock shook his head. _High as a kite and still fuckin' adorable._

 

* * *

 

 

Dr. Amari was displeased to say the least when she saw Scarlet's condition. “She's still recovering from an infection. Why you felt the need to get her hurt again, I don't quite understand.” She scolded him as she checked the young lady's pulse. Once she had taken the necessary x-rays and set the bone, Hancock requested she be moved to the State House. Amari preferred that she remain under her care for the time being, at least until she didn't require any more pain medication. She didn't trust a rabid chem user like Hancock to give her the right dosage.

 

But Scarlet had insisted as well. “I'll make sure he doesn't turn me into an addict,” she had said, still halfway under the influence of the med-ex. Amari sighed and let it go. She had done her job by setting the bone. She wasn't a babysitter, and tired of trying to talk medical sense to the miscreants of Goodneighbor.

 

Hancock set her up in bed, putting Kent's loaned comic book and her Pip-Boy within reach. “You want the radio?”

 

“Nah, that's okay.” She placed the back of her hand against her forehead. She was wearing his old shirt again. _“I wanna sleep in it,”_ she had said. At the time he wasn't sure if she was being totally coherent. But he loved the idea of her wearing his clothes to bed.

 

She opened her eyes wide and smiled at him. The drugs were wearing off a little at this point and she was sobering up. But the gradual absence of med-ex caused the pain in her foot to flare. Her smile turned into a cringe as she averted her gaze.

 

“You need some more?” he asked.

 

“John!” she chided. “Did you even pay attention to Dr. Amari when she was talking to you?”

 

He had paid attention, but seeing her in even a little pain was like a stab in the heart. If she wanted more, damned if he wasn't gonna let her have it.

 

“I'm not supposed to get my next dose until...” Scarlet stretched out her neck far enough to read her pip-boy before letting it fall heavily back down onto her pillow. “...Not for another 45 minutes.”

 

“I'll come back in a little bit then,” he said. “I do remember the doc saying you were supposed to get some shut-eye.”

 

“Don't go,” she said. Her hand darted for his and clutched it tight. Her wide eyes searched his briefly before she realized her own boldness “I- I'm not gonna be able to sleep until I can take some more.” She relaxed her grip. “Just stay here with me please?”

 

_Am I being too needy?_ Scarlet asked herself. The sun was rising. They had spent almost all of the past 24 hours together, and the bulk of that time Hancock had been fretting over her. She didn't want to take up so much of his time that she would end up driving him away. _He probably has something_ _more_ _important to do_.

 

But she remembered their kiss in every sensuous little detail. She wanted to feel it all over again. Yet she didn't have the courage to ask him about it, nor did she know how to even bring it up. Hancock was pretty easy-going, but that's precisely what kept her from saying anything. _It just... happened._ She told herself. _There was nothing special about it._ Not to Hancock, anyway. It was just another quirk of his personality that drove him to do it.

 

She frowned slightly and searched his expression for some kind of a clue to what he was feeling. If it was anything like the fire in her own breast... Scarlet shuddered with pleasure just thinking about it.

 

And in that moment, Scarlet finally gave herself permission to admit to what had been building up inside of her. _I'm in love with him_.

 

Hancock gazed at her stretched out on the bed, letting his eye wander over her waist, then her hips. Her legs were bare and supple, and he was crazy with the thought of running his hands along them.

 

He went back to staring into her eyes. _If looks could kill..._ Was it desire he saw hidden there? Or had he just imagined it because he had wanted it so badly? He knew she was willing, but he wanted to feel out why. Despite her show of bravery at the Tower, she was still the same vault-dweller who had wandered into Goodneighbor with no one and nothing. Hancock had offered his help because he sincerely wanted to. He didn't want her to feel like she owed him anything. He was concerned that her wantonness was just a by-product of her gratitude rather than something more meaningful. He remembered how MacCready had taken advantage... Hancock wasn't going to make _that_ mistake.

 

_“Just stay here with me please?”_ He could deny her nothing. She could just as easily have asked him to run naked into a Deathclaw nest, and he would have done it with a smile on his face. But all she wanted was for him to stay near, a sentiment that he returned tenfold but didn't have the right words to tell her.

 

“Anything for you, Sunshine.”

 

His rough voice was like a silken sheet brushing over her ear. It was deep and voluptuous, and it made her feel like she was drowning in her own passion. The way he called her Sunshine was like a red hot arrow piercing her at the base of her skull, then shooting through every solitary nerve ending in her body. It was painful and beautiful all at once.

 

Hancock raised his hand, moving it ever so slowly to her face before finally allowing it to come to rest on her cheek. She closed her eyes and savored the feeling. Hancock watched her, enraptured, as she placed her own small hand on top of it and laid a gentle kiss in his palm.

 

Just that brief touch of her lips sent him hurtling past the point of no return. He slid an eager arm around her shoulders and pulled her up from the bed. Then, her face still cupped reverently in his palm, he brought her lips to his.

 

She trembled in his arms. Her lips quivered against his as a wave of endorphins crested in her brain. Then she relaxed as the feeling crashed over her, bathing her in warmth. She immediately returned the pressure he exerted against her mouth, wanting to accept every invitation he was willing to send.

 

Hancock felt her shaking and thought about retreating, but as she leaned into his kiss, he realized she was trembling from excitement. He lingered on her mouth, waiting for her to relax before moving further. The tension in her shoulders melted away. Her whole body nearly went limp as he parted her lips with his tongue. She exhaled into his mouth and he sucked the air in rapaciously; the subtle flavor of her breath was like the greatest high he had ever known.

 

Scarlet's head fell back in surrender. Her mouth yielded to his, opening as wide as he wished. He ran his fingertips along her jawline, eliciting a soft moan. He pulled back from her mouth for a moment and caressed her neck, bringing his palm down to her collarbone and resting it there before kissing her again. She tilted her head back even further, exposing every graceful inch of her neck.

 

The sight was enough to make him rigid. It begged to be kissed... He moved his lips from hers to her cheek, her ear, her jaw... he left a trail of kisses, finally stopping at the spot where her shoulder and her neck curved together. He nibbled at the sensitive skin, making her shiver with delight. “John...” she whispered.

 

The way she said his name just then was almost more than he could stand. He wrapped a tight arm around her waist and pulled her as close as he could. Her head leaned forward and he looked her straight in the eye. “You have no idea what you do to me, Scarlet.”

 

She felt the hardness of his member against her body as he leaned over her, laying her onto the bed. He kissed her again and again, exploring her mouth with his tongue, not wanting to stop until he had gotten his fill. His body sank on top of hers and she wrapped her legs around his waist, both of them careful not to brush against her injured foot.

 

He began moving against her, keeping in time with her rhythm. She was pushing vigorously against him. Her heat penetrated the thin fabric of her underwear and he could feel it against his throbbing cock. He ran a hand up her silken thigh, then grasped it firmly, pulling her pelvis into his and grinding against her.

 

“John...” she said. This time it was hesitant. Maybe she wasn't ready to take that step with him. Perhaps she was simply exhausted, or the pain from her broken bones interfered with her readiness. Whatever the reason, it didn't matter. He wanted this to be about her. He wanted to show her _his_ gratitude. He wanted her to know that he didn't expect anything from her. That he was hers to take.

 

“Just relax,” he told her. He stroked her hand and then held it, dropping small kisses along her knuckles.

 

Scarlet sighed and let her body go limp, obeying his gentle command.

 

Carefully, he unbuttoned her shirt, starting from the top and working his way down. Once every button had been undone, Hancock removed his coat and threw his hat to the side, planting several deep kisses on her lips as he did.

 

He ran his hand down the front of her neck, applying a little bit of pressure. She arched her back and moaned deeply, coming unraveled under his steady touch. He moved his hand lower, down the trail in the center of her chest that her open shirt had revealed. His lingered momentarily at the space between her breasts. Then he pushed one flap of the loose garment aside, revealing her breast and stomach. He caressed the skin lightly with the tips of his fingers, then continued his path downward until he was tracing the line of her hips.

 

Scarlet placed her hands on either side of his head, encouraging him. Hancock slid his thumbs beneath the fabric of her underwear, pulling it down over her hips and thighs, then gently over her feet before tossing it to the floor.

 

Scarlet's breath was rapid as Hancock settled his head between her legs. He began slowly, kissing her inner thighs, moving closer and closer to her center with each application of his lips. He ran the tip of his tongue just outside her opening. The warmth of his mouth caused her to gasp sharply.

 

He smiled at her reaction. He ached to pleasure her. He wanted to feel her writhing with bliss against his mouth. He wanted to be the one to bring that feeling out of her. To give her everything she wanted.

 

He continued to nip and tease her, just barely brushing his lips over her sweetness. Every little touch left her wanting more. She pressed her fingertips into his scalp, begging him to give her what she desperately needed. Hancock sensed her desire and happily complied. The warm wetness of his tongue slid into her center and traveled up, settling on the rosy nub he found there, while the rest of his mouth enveloped her completely.

 

She moaned louder than she had anticipated. The sudden sound set Hancock's blood aflame, and he groaned into her in response. His tongue circled her clit and he felt her wetness spreading against his chin. He dipped his tongue down to lap up her juices. The flavor was sweeter than he could have ever imagined. Hungrily, he probed her with his tongue, and as it slipped inside her he felt her hips bear down against him. He grabbed her around the waist and laved at her womanhood, relishing her every twitch, her every sigh as he brought her closer to the edge.

 

Scarlet's back began to arch as she approached the final throes. Hancock grabbed her buttocks and pulled her even harder against him. He ran his tongue over her every fold. Then, placing his mouth on her clit, he sucked at it gently. She grabbed hold of the sheets as the sensation overcame her. She moaned and bucked her hips, his name dripping like honeydew from her mouth as she came.

 

Hancock kept a firm hold of her, feeling every pulsation of pleasure that emanated from her core. She was so beautiful then, riding out her orgasm to its very last wave. He committed the image to his memory. The sight was something he'd cherish to his last breath.

 

Scarlet let her hips fall back against the bed as her orgasm finally subsided. Hancock swept his tongue over her one last time, getting every drop of her sweet nectar that he possibly could.

 

He lingered there for a moment, inhaling deeply, giving her soft kisses that sent little aftershocks of pleasure through her body. When he finally pulled away he put his hand back on the soft skin of her cheek. Her whole body was covered in a rosy, angelic hue. She looked into his black eyes and grinned, panting from the exertion. He smiled back at her and pressed his forehead against hers, maintaining the connection for several minutes.

 

Scarlet would have laid there all day basking in the afterglow were it not for the painful throbbing of her foot. Try as she might, she couldn't keep from wincing. “Well, that's one way to pass 45 minutes,” Hancock said.

 

Scarlet's laugh was resonant and she pulled him into one more kiss. Then he broke away from her, climbing out of bed to retrieve her medicine.

 

She rolled over on her side and beamed at him. Her unbuttoned shirt lay askew over her torso. She rested her face against her hand and watched him attentively as he put his hat and coat back on. “John...”

 

Scarlet reached her hand out for his. Turning back, he extended it to her with a tender smile. “Can we please do that again sometime?” she asked sweetly.

 

“Sunshine, if you're gonna act like that, we can do that anytime you want.”


	8. Amends

MacCready had considered sneaking back into Goodneighbor during the early morning hours. Between 4 and 6, when the only people still awake would be too fucked up to notice him. He didn't know what to expect from the mayor or the resident vault-dweller, both of whom he dreaded running into.

 

But he wasn't that kind of man, he told himself. At least, not anymore. He was going to make things right with the people he cared about.

 

That involved swallowing his pride, though. It was something he wasn't particularly good at. Sometimes it was like pride was his only port in the storm, the only way he could justify treading water every damn day of his life. He clung to it covetously. It was his face, his name, everything he was.

 

He involuntarily placed his hand on his jaw, remembering their confrontation before he left. He couldn't change what he had done. And he wasn't used to being sorry. Regret was a weakness. His life in the Capital Wasteland had taught him that much. Regrets didn't put caps in your pocket. They didn't keep a roof over your head. They didn't do anything but make you stand still. And he could never stand still. He had to keep going forward. Had to keep going on.

 

But whether he liked it or not, he was relying on people now. Another unfamiliar and uncomfortable realization. He was relying on Hancock for a place to hang his hat. And he was downright taking advantage of his hospitality. Running up a tab for three weeks without paying wasn't his style. He was a man who paid his debts.

 

And he needed Scarlet for... various reasons. She occupied a part of his heart that he thought didn't exist anymore. And he had screwed up royally in that area. He would be lucky if she ever spoke to him again.

 

Which made his other reason for needing her much more dire. He would have to patch things up with her if she was going to help him find Duncan's cure. When you needed something hacked, you usually were left with two options: Brotherhood or Institute. Neither of which was feasible. Scarlet was his best hope to crack the code he needed to get into Med-Tek, unless he was willing to pay a mountain of caps that he didn't have.

 

He had plenty of time alone with his thoughts while he had cleared out the mess at Pickman Gallery. That place had left him more rattled than he cared to admit. He wouldn't be surprised if he had nightmares after seeing those horrors.

 

The time he spent away from Goodneighbor, away from Hancock and Scarlet, had ultimately been good for him. He believed he had things figured out. He hoped he did. He took a swig of whiskey from his flask as he stood at the gates of town and, stiffening his back, he pushed the door open and strode confidently back into civilization, the bright afternoon sun doing nothing to shield his entry.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Hancock was talking to Magnolia when he saw MacCready coming down the steps. The mercenary held his head high, but avoided making eye contact with anyone and went straight to the back.

 

Hancock was silently relieved that he hadn't been seen. MacCready was probably still pretty raw from being put in his place, and for his part, Hancock felt a little guilty for letting his temper get the best of him. Had he deserved it? _Sure did,_ he assured himself. _Probably deserved more than that._

 

But MacCready had been behaving himself for the three months he'd spent in Goodneighbor so far. He was shocked that the headstrong young man hadn't done anything out of line up until that point. And his misstep with Scarlet was the result of impaired judgment rather than any actual sinister intent.

 

Hancock was protective of the young man, like he was for most of his citizens. But the this one was in particular need of guidance. His life, as far as the mayor understood from their conversations, was one bad choice after another. Getting involved with a gang like the Gunners was a mistake to say the least. Downright stupid, really.

 

As they got to know each other Hancock imparted what advice he could based on his own felonious past. He was in no place to judge the young man's choices. But he didn't like seeing history repeat itself. He had a fatherly sense of responsibility for what happened from this point on. MacCready was in sore need of leadership, whether he wanted it or not.

 

Magnolia left to get ready for her performance and Hancock lingered at the mostly empty bar, waiting for MacCready's next move.

 

Some time later the man emerged from the VIP lounge and approached the bar, still careful not to meet Hancock's gaze. “Can I get a beer, Charlie?” He had removed his duster and the sleeves of his green collared shirt were rolled neatly up to his elbows.

 

Charlie paused his task of arranging bottles and approached MacCready. “You payin'?” He grumbled under a layer of accusation.

 

MacCready pulled a handful of caps out of his pocket and tossed them onto the bar. “Keep 'em coming.”

 

The robot seemed satisfied and brought him his drink. He took the bottle and downed several generous swallows before moseying over to Hancock.

 

“I finished checking out Pickman Gallery,” he began.

 

Hancock didn't look up from the glass of bourbon in his hand. “You find out anything interesting?” He downed his drink in one gulp, then lit a cigarette, still not meeting MacCready's eyes. They were both unsure of each other, navigating the minefield that stretched between them.

 

“Interesting...” MacCready began, standing next to Hancock and placing his elbows on the bar. “Unique little art exhibit.” He took another swallow of beer before continuing. “This Pickman guy was a real psychopath. Had a pretty weird take on interior design.”

 

“You wanna fill me in?” Hancock said firmly, not caring to dance around the subject with cryptic euphemisms.

 

“He used the blood and dead bodies of his victims to make his 'art.' The whole place was full of ripped up bodies. When I showed up there were some raiders there, still alive, bent on getting some revenge. Things got a little hairy. Then I found Pickman hiding in the basement.”

 

“You take care of him?”

 

“Oh yeah. Slit his throat and let him bleed out. Thought it was an appropriate punishment.”

 

Hancock's head dropped briefly, making a satisfied grunt as he took a drag.

 

A pregnant pause followed. MacCready shifted, slightly nervous, while he figured out what to say next. “I got a present for ya,” he finally uttered.

 

Hancock turned to face him now, settling into an easy stance. MacCready reached for his belt and pulled out a long combat knife. Then, holding it by the blade, offered it to Hancock. The mayor took the handle and lifted the weapon to his face. He ran his thumb liesurely over the serrated edge. “Nice,” he said, before tucking it into his American flag belt. “Good work, Mac.”

 

MacCready's heart swelled a little hearing those words of approval. “Happy to help, boss.”

 

His tone was disarming, almost humble. Hancock felt reassured by his use of the word “boss.” At least the kid remembered the chain of authority. He was a guest here, after all, and this was Hancock's town. Their dynamic was returning to normal, even though it would still take some time for the mayor to wholly forgive him.

 

“It's a nice gesture,” Hancock said, and his statement hung in the air with an irresolute inflection. MacCready leaned in a little. “But I'm not the one whose ass you should be kissin'.”

 

MacCready forced a mouthful of beer over the lump in his throat. It was a subject he was dreading. “Where is she?” was all he said.

 

“Wolfie's back at my place.” The possessiveness in his voice was clear to MacCready and his skin crawled a little, thinking about the possibility of another physical dispute. “You should probably go say hi.”

 

MacCready was taken aback a little by what appeared to be an invitation. But Hancock didn't like it when things went unresolved. He was conflicted. A big part of him wanted to keep the merc at a safe distance from Scarlet. It wasn't just that he had crossed the line with her, though he was definitely still pissed about it. A ball of ire simmered deep in his gut when he reluctantly thought of the encounter. Scarlet trying to fight him off. MacCready pushing himself on her...

 

His heart soared, though, as he thought about the past few days. They had been incredible. Yesterday, after their intimacy, he had let her sleep the day away and fought to resist the urge to crawl into bed with her. He didn't want to accidentally roll over on her foot or otherwise cause her pain. But later that evening the injury had greatly improved. _“_ _Thank god for stimpacks,”_ she had said, and invited him to join her in bed. They had stayed up talking most of the night, sharing stories between lingering kisses. He held her close as she fell asleep in his arms, the med-ex pulling her back into a heavy sleep.

 

They woke up together late in the morning. He was fully roused before she was and had noticed her tossing and turning, coming out of her sleep. He knelt between her legs and kissed her inner thighs, then began inching his way up. Scarlet's eyes fluttered open and, after her initial surprise, she smiled and lay back, letting Hancock feast upon her as he had done previously until she was shuddering with pleasure.

 

Hancock smiled and licked his lips, her taste still fresh in his mouth.

 

But he couldn't forget Scarlet's behavior after nearly being violated by MacCready. She was remorseful, ashamed even. She had asked about him with more concern than had made him comfortable. He wasn't sure to what extent she cared for MacCready, and vice versa. She may be staying in his home, sleeping next to him at night, wearing his clothes as she recovered from his repeated enjoyment of her. But nothing was set in stone.

 

The mercenary's regret was obvious to Hancock. And they would eventually have to see each other. He wanted to give the man an opportunity to make things right with her, if nothing else than for the sake of Goodneighbor's harmony.

 

MacCready finished his beer and contemplated the idea. “Guess I'd better,” he said. It was the most remorse Hancock had ever heard from him. They met eyes, sharing a brief look of understanding, before MacCready left the bar.

 

* * *

 

 

MacCready could hear her laughter as he crept up the State House Stairs. She and Fahrenheit were sitting in the parlor, playing cards. An open bottle of vodka sat between them and wreaths of smoke hung around their heads. He flinched a little seeing Hancock's bodyguard, with her minigun on the couch next to her.

 

Their laughter died as they looked at him. He stood at the top of the stairs, hanging back. Fahrenheit looked pissed. _She always looks pissed,_ he thought. But she was frowning a little harder than usual.

 

He looked at the redhead sitting on the couch across from her. Her flannel shirt was mostly unbuttoned and she wasn't wearing any pants. One of her shapely white legs was resting on a pillow on the coffee table, her foot wrapped in bandages.

 

His veins went icy, thinking about her being put in harms way. He ground his molars at the thought of Hancock roping her into something dangerous.

 

Scarlet was surprised to see him, but she didn't seem to look upset. Her eyes widened curiously under her arched brows, but she didn't speak.

 

“Hey, Wolf.” He tried to sound casual as Fahrenheit stared him down.

 

“MacCready!” Scarlet's mouth broadened into a smile. MacCready was instantly taken aback. _She's happy to see me?_

 

“You alright?” he asked, eyes darting to her injured foot.

 

“Just a few broken bones.” Scarlet put her cards down on the table and took a drink from the bottle. “You wanna join us?”

 

“Actually, I needed to talk to you. Alone.”

 

Fahrenheit stood up, making as much noise as possible, and grabbed her gun. She seemed unsure of whether or not to leave, nevertheless stomping her way toward MacCready. “I'll just be downstairs,” she said. She gave him a death glare and pushed past him, making sure to jut him with her elbow before heading down the steps.

 

Scarlet watched as Fahrenheit left and put out the cigarette she was smoking. MacCready still hadn't moved. His hands were in his pockets and his eyes downcast. He looked a little nervous. Scared, even. Her lips straightened into a thin line and she scowled a little in concern. “Everything okay?” she asked.

 

Her heartfelt concern was like being kicked in the ribs. _She's not even mad at me._

 

“Yeah, I just wanted to see how you were.” He meandered over, taking slow steps until he stood across from her.

 

“Sit down,” she said casually. She aimed at him with the head of the vodka bottle. “Want a drink?”

 

She seemed to be making herself at home. “If you're offering, then I can't really turn it down.” He took a heavy swig and set the bottle on the table, wiping away a few drops that had run into his goatee.

 

“I came to tell you I was sorry,” he said quickly. As hard as it was for him to say, he wanted it off his conscience badly. He was determined to confront the elephant in the room, even if she didn't seem to notice it.

 

“What, about the other night?” she asked. His admission hadn't phased her in the slightest.

 

“Yeah,” he went on. He rested his elbows on his knees and looked down at his feet, not wanting to meet her eyes. “I shouldn't have... shouldn't have acted like that,” he stammered out. “It wasn't right.”

 

Scarlet waived her hand dismissively. “We were both drunk.”

 

He couldn't believe how well she was taking it. And her readiness to forgive him only exacerbated his guilt.

 

“I'm not like that, though.” He looked up and met her eyes, wanting to emphasize his sincerity. “That's not who I am.”

 

“We all do stupid shit when we're drunk.” She pulled a cigarette from her pack and offered it to him. Her affable smile melted his heart.

 

Just like that it was over. After days of beating himself up and dwelling on his mistake, rehearsing what he would say over and over again, the whole thing was forgotten. MacCready was so stunned he couldn't think of anything else to say just then. The relief was like finding a pool of water in the desert. _Don't overthink it,_ he told himself. _Just be glad it's done._

 

“So what happened to your foot?” MacCready asked, taking the cigarette from her and lighting it.

 

“Well Hancock and I were taking out some super mutants.” She was flippant, almost cocky as she went on. “We were rescuing this guy from Trinity Tower. It's funny, I was getting shot at the whole time and we were finally getting away when I fucking _tripped_.” She laughed and shook her head. “I mean, I lost track of how many mutants there were. We spent hours fighting our way up and down that god damn tower and I get hurt just walking around.”

 

MacCready liked her attitude. She was much more confident than the woman he had meet just one short week ago. He was happy to see her so sure of herself, and even felt a little proud, hoping his shooting lessons had something to do with it.

 

“Well try not to get yourself killed, 'cause I might need your help with something.”

 

“Is that so?”

 

“Yeah.” MacCready tried not to sound too eager. “You're an egg-head, right?”

 

“I guess,” she said incredulously.

 

“I got this... computer issue I needed help with. You see I got my hands on these old holotapes. There's a lot of info on 'em that I need, and I can figure out some of it, but most of it's all locked up. The data's either encrypted or password protected. Is that something you can handle?”

 

“Yeah, I think so. What's it for?”

 

“I need it to get into a secure location,” he said.

 

She arched an eyebrow. “A secure location?”

 

MacCready held back. He didn't like having to answer questions, and he definitely wasn't crazy about sharing his personal business. “It's a private matter,” he said. He wasn't about to tell anyone anything more than they needed to know, even if he was relying on her assistance.

 

“Well I don't wanna get mixed up in something illegal.”

 

“Illegal?” He chuckled at her. “Baby, this ain't 2077. If you haven't noticed, there aren't many cops out here these days.”

 

She crossed her arms. Scarlet didn't like being patronized. “You know what I mean,” she stated firmly. “I'm not going to help you kill anybody.”

 

“This isn't about killing anyone.” Her eyes were questioning, waiting for him to give her more. He tried to find the right words to secure her help without telling her too much, but it was a hard thing to do. “Actually, I'm trying to get some medicine.”

 

“Oh, you mean like chems?” she said disapprovingly.

 

“No, like actual medicine,” he insisted.

 

She processed it for a moment. _Medicine?_ Her voice shifted from being wary to being worried. “Is someone sick?”

 

MacCready sighed. He didn't want to get into it. He hated having to think about it, much less discuss it. “Well, yeah...” He knew by her face that she wanted more, and he didn't want to be rude, but he wasn't ready to share his life story just yet. “It's kind of personal. Not something I want to talk about.”

 

Scarlet nodded her understanding. The heaviness in his voice and the uneasiness in his posture were apparent, and she almost felt bad for making him bring it up. She knew he was a hired gun, but she also was sure there was a lot more to him than that. And he was being sincere, as far as she could tell. If someone was sick and needed her help, who was she to say no?

 

“Okay MacCready, I'll take a look at the tapes,” she said.

 

He could have kissed her he was so happy. _Thing's are finally going right for a change._ Having acquired her aid, he was one step closer to his goal.

 

* * *

 

 

Winlock surreptitiously made his way to a mysterious figure sitting at the Diamond City noodle stand. The woman's face was completely covered by a gas mask. She was wearing a long coat and gloves, too. It had to be uncomfortable dressing in something like that in the dry Commonwealth heat.

 

“Bobbi?” he asked, once she was close enough to hear. When she turned her head her brown hair caught a gust of wind, and she placed a hand on top of her head as if to keep it from blowing away.

 

“Yeah, it's me,” she said, her raspy voice muffled by the mask. “Sorry for the disguise. My kind ain't exactly welcome in Diamond City.”

 

Winlock pulled up a seat next to her. The protectron behind the counter approached him, his metal joints creaking with every rigid step. “Nan-ni shimasko-ka?” It asked him atonally.

 

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Winlock said. He wasn't really hungry, but he figured he ought to be eating if he was going to sit at the noodle stand.

 

“So,” he began as the robot plopped a bowl of ramen in front of him, “You know where they're keepin' him?”

 

Bobbi folded her arms and leaned forward, resting on the counter. “He was out doing a job for the mayor, but I saw him headin' back into town while I was leaving.”

 

“Well we can't get to him if he's still holed up in Goodneighbor,” Winlock said through a mouthful of noodles. “Unless you think the mayor's just gonna let us stroll on in.”

 

“Actually, that might just be easier than you think.”

 

“The fuck you talkin' about?” He grunted, not even bothering to look at her.

 

“Even if MacCready never comes out of Goodneighbor again, I've got a way to keep Hancock from not letting you come in after him, probably even throw the little shit-heel out of town. Depending on his mood, he could end up handing you MacCready's head on a platter.”

 

Winlock looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “How you gonna get rid of a bastard like Hancock? The guy's impossible to deal with.”

 

“Even someone like him has a weakness. And it'll be easy enough to exploit it.” Winlock leaned in as Bobbi continued. “Just last week a vault-dweller rolled into Goodneighbor from the Commonwealth. Word on the street is Hancock's sweet on her. Like Sugar Bombs sweet. Never seen the man go that soft on anyone. So if you can get your hands on her, you can get Hancock to do just about anything you want. Including giving you MacCready.”

 

“If we can't get to MacCready, how d'ya think we're gonna get this chick? You think he's just gonna open the gate for us?”

 

“She's a trusting little thing,” said Bobbi slyly. “I can probably find a way to get her alone. Then all I gotta do is drug her and tie her up, and she's yours.”

 

Winlock took a few thoughtful chews. “And I'm guessin' you got a plan to get her out of town?”

 

“I've been doing some digging recently as part of another project,” she continued. “Managed to chisel my way into an old subway tunnel that happens to run right under Goodneighbor. You can come in and out without ever having to set one foot on the streets.”

 

Winlock stroked his chin and smiled. The two of them chuckled darkly and Bobbi nodded in satisfaction.

 

“But wait,” Winlock's brow crinkled. “Isn't he just gonna come after us? That's what we been tryin' to avoid.”

 

“Trust me, if you give him a choice between that smart ass mercenary and his fragile little lovebird, he ain't gonna think twice.”


	9. Scars

Hancock couldn't help himself when he returned to the Old State House that evening. The way Scarlet sashayed around, his old shirt halfway buttoned and hanging off her shoulder, barefoot and bottomless, her hair tousled around her shoulders...

 

_“_ _Ya hungry?”_ he had asked her.

 

_“_ _Not really,”_ she replied.

 

_“_ _Well I am.”_

 

Scarlet couldn't hold back her girlish giggling as Hancock picked her up and carried her off, this time to his bed. She felt a new sense of intimacy being there. As he lay her on the sheets she closed her eyes, trying to focus on the lingering scent he had imparted on his pillow.

 

He had ravished her again, his groans muffled by the vice-like grip of her thighs around his head. He took his time bringing her to another glorious climax, leaving her writhing and panting his name. Her moans were like a satiny concerto to his ears, and he continued to dine on the sumptuous banquet of her creamy flesh until she had practically begged him to stop.

 

After their reverie he nestled in beside her. Scarlet grabbed his face and gave him several long, grateful kisses on his moist lips, feeling a slight thrill at tasting herself on them. Hancock embraced her tenderly as she broke the kiss and placed his forehead against hers. She smiled and bit her bottom lip while he stroked her face, brushing away a few errant strands of her orange hair.

 

“You're insatiable,” she said. The ear to ear grin she sported was practically glued into place.

 

“I'll never get tired of doing that.” Hancock's hand traveled down to rest in the small of her back. He opened his palm and applied a little pressure, pushing Scarlet's hips into his. She felt his fully erect cock against her pelvis, twitching a little at the sensation of her warmth against it. Though it strained against his pants, Hancock made no effort to free it and languidly held her to him.

 

Scarlet's hands moved from his face to his collar. She snaked a finger over the base of his throat and hooked it into his shirt. As she tugged at it, her other hand brushed coyly over his erection. He throbbed with need, but he gently pushed her away before rolling up to sit beside her, kissing her on the nose as he did.

 

Scarlet propped herself up on an elbow and eyed him perplexedly. He had pleasured her three times now, and she was eager to return the favor. Hancock turned his back to her and lit two cigarettes before placing one between her lips.

 

“Something wrong?” she asked, exhaling a stream of smoke. He didn't strike her as the type to be shy about these things.

 

John turned to meet her eyes. They were soft and questioning. His chest felt heavy under her gaze and he wondered himself why he was being so hesitant. The moment she had stepped foot in Goodneighbor, he knew he had been smitten. However he had convinced himself nearly every day that he would never have her, that she wasn't available to someone like him. And now here she was, in his bed, half-naked, cheeks and chest tinted pink with desire, and she wanted to touch him, please him the way he had pleased her.

 

He had never been more ashamed to be a ghoul than at this very moment. His condition had never bothered him before. Or at least he thought it hadn't. It was something he pushed to the side. For every horrified look and cutting insult, he had a smart-ass comment or deflective quip ready to dish out.

 

But Scarlet, with all her wide-eyed innocence and her trusting nature, had made him feel more vulnerable than ever.

 

“I told you how I became a ghoul, right?”

 

Scarlet smiled and rubbed her hand over his back. “Yeah. 'The high was so worth it,'” she quoted.

 

“I didn't exactly tell you the whole story.”

 

Scarlet cocked her head, one corner of her mouth turning downward, as she waited for him to go on. She hung on the edge of the growing silence, inwardly begging him to open up to her.

 

“Before I became mayor, some ass named Vic was in charge for I don't know how long. Guy was scum. Used us drifters like his own personal piggy bank.” Hancock paused to take a drag, and Scarlet waited patiently for him to go on. She withdrew her hand from his back, as if to give him space.

 

“He had this goon squad he used to keep people in line,” he continued. “Every so often he'd let them off the leash, blow off some steam on the populace at large. Folks with homes could lock their doors. But us drifters, we got it bad.”

 

Hancock rose slowly from the bedside. He sauntered over to his bureau and pulled out a brown liquor bottle, then ripped off the cork. He took one swallow before offering it to Scarlet, who shook her head silently.

 

“There was one night, one of my buddies said something to 'em. Something stupid, I can't even remember what it was. But he pissed 'em off. They cracked him open like a can of Cram on the pavement. We saw the whole thing start to finish, but when it was all over, we all just stood there. Did nothing.” Hancock hung his head, purposely avoiding Scarlet's searching eyes.

 

Seeing him so despondent made her heart hurt. “Sounds like you were outmatched. There wasn't anything you could have done.”

 

His black eyes were empty and glassy as he turned to her. He was touched by the fact that she was trying to comfort him, but it wouldn't change what had happened. “It doesn't matter. It was fucking spineless. I... felt like less than nothing.”

 

Scarlet yearned to reach out for him, to console him, but he kept his distance. He wanted to tell her everything, and he was determined to get through it. He wanted her to know the truth about who he was. She deserved to know.

 

He took one more drink from his bottle, then replaced the cork. “Afterwards I got so high that I blacked out completely. When I finally came to, I was on the floor here in the Old State House. Right in front of the clothes of John Hancock.” He smiled, somewhat acidly. “John Hancock. First American hoodlum and defender of the people. I might've still been high, but those clothes spoke to me, told me what I needed to do. I smashed the case, put them on, and started a new life. As Hancock.”

 

She seemed to look proud just then, and his heart warmed at the feeling. “After that, I went clean for a bit. Got organized. Convinced KLEO to loan me some hardware. Got a crew of drifters together and headed out into the ruins. Started training. Next time Vic's boys went on their tear, we'd be ready for 'em.”

 

His voice was swollen with vengeance and Scarlet found it more than a little unnerving. As she studied his features, his mouth twisted into a sickening sneer. She unconsciously clutched the bed sheet to her breast and swallowed thickly before he continued. “So the night of, we all got loaded, let Vic's boys get good and hammered, and burst from the rooftops where we had been hiding.

 

“They never even saw it coming. We didn't have to fire a shot.” He paused. “We didn't _have_ to. But we sure fucking did. It was a massacre.

 

“Once we mopped up, we strolled right into Vic's quarters, wrapped a rope around his neck, and threw him over the State House balcony. And there I am, gun in hand, draped in Hancock's duds, looking at the people of Goodneighbor assembled below. I had to say something. That first time I said 'em, they didn't even feel like my words:

 

“ _Of the people, for the people._

 

“Was my inaugural address. Became Mayor Hancock of Goodneighbor that day. And from then on, I vowed I'd never stand by and watch. Ever again.”

 

Scarlet waited again for him to speak, but he seemed stuck. For his part, Hancock was afraid to say anything else. She looked scared of him when he spoke about killing Vic and his men. Her knuckles were white as she held onto the bed sheet. She looked trapped almost, like a cornered animal, dying to run away yet too frightened to move.

 

“Is that when you took that drug?” Her timid voice seeped its way into the growing silence.

 

“No, it was after that.” Hancock paced to the door and back, then lit another cigarette with the burning ember of the previous one. “You see I didn't take that drug because I wanted to get high. I knew what it was going to do to me. After seein' one of my own die like a dog, and I just stood there...” He reached a hand over to grab his own forearm, then looked down at his feet. “I've made a lot of mistakes in my life. A lot of bad choices. Hurt a lot of people. But that was the worst thing I had ever done. Or not done. And I couldn't stand to look at the bastard I saw in the mirror anymore.”

 

Scarlet was almost in tears. _He did this to himself on purpose?_ Getting high was one thing. It didn't particularly bother her that he liked his chems. She had partaken more than once herself, after all. But that degree of self-loathing was unimaginable. To turn oneself into a walking corpse in an effort to hide from your mistakes...

 

“John,” she whispered, rolling to her knees. Scarlet was at a loss. There was nothing she could say to console him, she knew, but somehow she wanted to convey her compassion. She hated seeing him like this. Part of it was pity, but the other part, she was ashamed to admit, was something like selfishness. He had been her rock in this world. He was strong, capable, unflinching in the face of adversity. A heroic figure both to her and to the subjects of Goodneighbor. Seeing his vulnerability laid out like this caused her own insecurities to flare up. _If he loses it, what's going to happen to me?_

 

“If I took it, I'd never have to look at him again. I could put that all behind me. I'd be free. It was the easiest choice I'd ever made. And now that you're here, it's just another one of the choices that I'm going to regret for the rest of my life.”

 

Hancock sighed the smoke out of his lungs. He leaned his back against the bureau and closed his eyes. For a few long seconds, he awaited Scarlet's verdict. He wasn't sure what to expect... Disappointment? Fear? Disgust? The way she had looked at him these past few days, with such reverence and admiration, he almost couldn't stand it. He didn't deserve to be looked at that way. Least of all by someone like her.

 

The floor creaked as Scarlet placed one timid foot upon it. She tested her weight on the other, ensuring it was healed enough to support her, before fully stepping out of bed. The sheet she held fell to the ground and she crept toward him, as if she were afraid he might run from her if she approached too quickly.

 

She took the cigarette that was dangling between his fingers and snubbed it in the ashtray, then she drew the hand that was covering his face away from him, placing it to her cheek. Hancock opened his eyes. _Were those tears?_ Scarlet wondered. They shone in the dim lamplight, but were clouded over with shame. It was painful to see him like this, crushed under the weight of his own conscience.

 

Scarlet placed her hands against his hips and kissed him softly, her lips barely grazing against his mouth. Then, she began working her way underneath the fabric of his shirt. As her hands traveled up his sides, she dragged his shirt along with them.

 

Hancock instinctively reached for his sides and halted her progress. He took her hands and pushed them down, holding them a safe distance away from his body.

 

Scarlet's lips were parted, and she looked perplexed, hurt even, by the way he denied her touch. Hancock held her hands securely, not wanting her to resume her invasion of his body. He dreaded the idea of her seeing his naked flesh. Up until now, the only skin he had shown was that of his hands and face. It was bad enough, and he was still trying to figure out how she had the ability to stomach the sight of him.

 

She locked eyes with him. She stared it him with conviction, an unwavering sense of purpose. “Please,” was all she said.

 

It was more of a demand, but it came out gently. John could tell by her face that she had made up her mind. Reluctantly, he let go of her, releasing her hands to resume their exploration.

 

She took the sides of his shirt and pulled it upwards. Compliantly, he lifted his arms, allowing her to slip it off before casting it onto the floor.

 

Then he stood before her, exposed, his naked chest rising and falling with anticipating breaths. Scarlet's eyes danced over his skin. It was burned much the same as his face, reddish-brown, deep lines piercing every inch. His nipples were absent, also lost to radiation.

 

She didn't even flinch at the sight, instead lifting her fingertips to his chest, tracing the outlines of his muscles. He was taught and toned, she assessed, despite the condition of his skin, and every muscle of his torso was clearly visible. She raked her palm downward against his sternum, then down to his abs, caressing them. Her other hand moved tepidly to his waistband and she ran a finger just under his pants, grazing the area above his groin.

 

He seemed reluctant to continue, but Scarlet was undeterred. Almost as if making a gesture of good faith, she unbuttoned her shirt and slipped it off her shoulders, letting it land behind her.

 

Now she was completely exposed to him. Hancock could hardly breathe as he devoured the sight of her fully naked body in front of him. Her flesh was white and smooth, the only blemishes being the freckles she had been collecting on her chest and shoulders. Her breasts were full and tipped with rosy pink nipples, so faint they were hardly apparent.

 

Scarlet took one of his hands and pressed it to her stomach. Then she guided it over the skin, inviting him to stroke it.

 

The pale flesh of her stomach was streaked with deep red marks. She had scars of her own, though they were of a different kind. But they created an uneven texture; even though the skin was flat and soft, each line on her belly could be distinctly felt. _It's not so different_ , she wanted to tell him. _I'm not perfect, either_.

 

Hancock immediately recognized the gesture for what it was. In spite of what he looked like, however mortifying, she didn't care, and she wanted him to know that. He almost shed a tear just then before sliding his palm around the back of her neck, drawing her into a reverent kiss.

 

The feeling of her naked chest against his reignited his desire. His cock was bulging in his pants, and scarlet could feel his hardness against her naked mound. She drew her lips away from his mouth and planted them against his neck, making him moan every so softly. Her hands ran down along his sides and her mouth followed suit, leaving little moist spots where her lips had been as they continued making their way along his stomach.

 

Scarlet knelt down and, after one more kiss just below his naval, unfastened his pants. She tugged at them until the fabric collected around his ankles. He assisted her the rest of the way, stepping out of them before kicking them to the side.

 

His cock sprung free and bobbed once or twice before standing completely upright. The skin of it was burned like the rest of him, but it was still obviously functional and otherwise normal. Scarlet grinned and put her fingertip on its base, following the path of the bright blue vein that was feeding its swollen head.

 

Hancock gasped at the touch. A bead of precum formed at the opening of his cock. Scarlet ran her thumb against it and smeared the slick liquid over the tip, causing him to twitch unconsciously. She looked up at him and met his eyes once more, wanting to ensure his willingness to proceed before she went any further. He responded by tucking her hair behind her ear, unable to speak through his pants of need.

 

Then, enveloping her palm around the shaft, she put her lips against his head and opened her mouth, letting the end of him slide in.

 

He almost came right then and there but fought to hold back, clutching the edge of the bureau behind him and sucking in the air between his teeth. The warm wetness of her tongue sent waves of pleasure rippling through every muscle in his body, and his cock pulsed in the soft grip of her hand.

 

She took her time, holding him firmly and popping the head of his cock out of her mouth before circling it with her tongue. His head was back and his body was still, lest he move and break whatever mood that had overtaken her.

 

Scarlet released her grip and ran her hand over his hips, tracing the lines of them before working her way between his legs. Then, she slid them beneath his balls and fondled them gently, letting the tip of his cock bounce against her lips.

 

Hancock was now nearly panting with desire. Her languid exploration of him was almost torturous. She seemed to realize that and looked up at him with an impish grin. He watched her face, rapt and unwavering, as she ran her tongue from the base of his shaft all the way up to his swollen purple head. Then, her lips parted, and she took the whole of him into her mouth.

 

He groaned lustfully, completely undone by the sensation of being in her mouth. He rested one hand on the back of her head, tentative but encouraging. Scarlet grabbed him around the waist and pulled him even further in, gagging slightly at feeling the head of his cock touch the back of her throat. Then she withdrew, letting it fall out of her mouth with a pop before taking it again.

 

Hancock gripped the edge of the bureau with his free hand, holding on for dear life as she sucked the very soul from his body. Over and over she bobbed her head along his entire length, her nose touching his groin at the apex of her motion. He had attempted to be still, but his body fought against his will as he began bucking his hips, meeting every absorption of his member with a thrust of his own.

 

His eyes rolled into the back of his head. He wondered whether or not he should say anything as he felt his balls roiling, ready to burst at any moment. Both of her arms were wrapped around him now, and she didn't seem ready to let him go. But he was nearing the point of no return. He had exercised the entirety of his willpower up until this point, and the sensation of her lips running over him again and again had driven him to the edge.

 

“Scarlet...” was all he could manage to utter breathlessly. She seemed to hold him even tighter then, sucking harder and faster, waiting hungrily for his release.

 

A primal grunt pushed its way out of his chest as he let himself go, sending wave after wave of hot cum into her mouth. Scarlet closed her eyes and swallowed with every pulse. She wanted to take every last bit of him, not relaxing her grip or pulling her lips away until she was certain she had swallowed every last drop.

 

Hancock's thrusts began to slow, then stop. He was breathing hard from the effort of his release. His cock began to soften, and Scarlet finally moved her head back and let it fall against him, twitching once more as it did.

 

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and looked up at him, waiting for some kind of response. He pulled her up by her shoulders and showered her with kisses, the only validation he could think to give her after she had given him such pleasure.

 

They stumbled back over to the bed, covering each other with sensual caresses, enjoying the feeling of their naked bodies pressing together. They kissed until their mouths were all but raw and their desire for each other had nearly exhausted them.

 

Hancock held her fast to his side, reveling in the simplicity of being naked in bed with her. Neither of them spoke the rest of that evening. The two of them drifted off together in silence, falling asleep in each others' arms.

 

* * *

 

“You really think you can figure this shi- stuff out?” asked MacCready. He still had his doubts that Scarlet could actually help him with the encrypted holotapes, having nothing to go on but her own word that she was knowledgeable with computers.

 

“I'm gonna try, but I can't promise you anything.” Her fingers danced over the keyboard as she slid one of the tapes into the terminal's deck. They were in a back room of the Memory Den. Irma was one of the few people in Goodneighbor that had a working terminal, and she had allowed them to use it, though she was somewhat hesitant to have strangers poking around on it.

 

_“_ _Just try not to break it,”_ she had said. Scarlet assured her that she only needed it to decode MacCready's tapes, and even offered her some caps. But Irma agreed, insisting that she wasn't about to take money for something that might help MacCready. She seemed fond of the young merc, smiling somewhat devilishly at him before they set about their task.

 

The first tape was password protected. Scarlet squinted thoughtfully at the terminal while she went over her options. She typed in a few letters, then the terminal beeped ominously. “What's wrong?” asked MacCready.

 

“It's alright,” she assured him, adjusting her glasses. “It might take me a few tries, but I can figure it out.”

 

After a few more negative beeps the holotape whirred in its deck, and the terminal's screen was flooded with text. MacCready leaned in over her shoulder. “What's it say?”

 

“...study of Hidradenitis Suppurativa, subjects afflicted with abscesses appearing all over the skin, often clustered in the groin and armpits...interfering with sebum production in the sweat glands... painful lesions often leaking puss... no known cure, but responds well to treatment....” she mumbled, reading aloud.

 

The majority of it was unintelligible to MacCready, but one phrase stuck out to him. “No known cure?” he asked, interrupting her train of thought.

 

“Just a minute,” she said to him, and scrolled down as she skimmed. “...possible cure using a strain of subcutaneously injected tigecycline combined with antibiotic resistant yeast.... test subjects appear to be responding.... lesions have yet to reappear on subjects 9, 12, 14, 22...”

 

“So there's a cure?” he asked.

 

“It looks like they were in the final phases of testing it, but yes. There's a cure,” she said.

 

MacCready let out a heavy sigh of relief and leaned against the table next to her. “Thank god,” he muttered. “Does it say where they kept it?”

 

“...several doses have been prepared and shipped to Med-Tek Research Hospital for storage...” she read.

 

“Good. Good.” MacCready jumped up and began pacing around excitedly while Scarlet kept digging through the data.

 

“But those kinds of places have a lot of defenses. You're probably not going to get in without at least a few passwords, and probably a code to override the protectron defenses,” she said matter-of-factly.

 

“That other tape is supposed to have the passwords on it,” he said, motioning to the orange and white holotape sitting next to her elbow.

 

Scarlet, after finishing going over the text, popped out the first tape from the deck and replaced it with the other. The terminal gave a few angry beeps as the screen loaded. _“Warning: Confidential. Classified medical data.”_ it said.

 

“This one is encrypted,” she said. “It's gonna take me a few minutes to bypass the restrictions.”

 

MacCready nodded and lit a cigarette. He sucked on it vigorously, walking back and forth across the room behind Scarlet. Her fingers were clicking intermittently against the keyboard as she paused every so often to assess something on the screen.

 

“Can you stop moving around like that?” she asked over her shoulder, annoyed. “You're making it hard to concentrate.”

 

“Sorry. Sorry.” He grabbed a nearby chair and pulled it up next to her. He sat down, but one of his legs bobbed up and down as he tapped his heel against the floor.

 

She did her best to ignore him and continued her work, her fingers pausing between methodical keystrokes. The room was silent save for a few intermittent clicks and beeps. “Sounds like a pretty nasty disease,” she said, not taking her eyes away from the screen.

 

“Yeah, it's pretty awful,” he said dourly, his eyes fixed on nothing as he lit another smoke. “That cure is the whole reason I came to the Commonwealth from the Capital Wasteland.”

 

“How did you know it was here?”

 

“A while ago I met a guy named Sinclair who said his buddy had caught some kind of weird disease. I thought he was wasting my time until he mentioned that he was breaking out in blue boils. They had started to dig up some info about a cure in a medical research facility somewhere out here. Unfortunately, Sinclair's buddy died before they could find out anything else.”

 

“Sorry to hear that,” she said, giving MacCready a cursory glance before going back to the terminal.

 

“We're still not sure whether the disease is what killed him, or if it was some kind of infection that got in through the open skin,” he said, pausing to snuff out his cigarette. “But I'm not taking any chances. If there's a cure out there for Duncan, I'm gonna find it.”

 

An uncomfortable silence rolled over them. MacCready hadn't meant to say his name, and Scarlet immediately sensed his chagrined look. _Duncan_ , she thought. There was a familiar lilt in his voice when he said it. A fondness laced with fear. It was all too apparent what was driving the mercenary's desperation. Her heart sunk as she thought of her own predicament. Were she in his shoes, she would be doing the same.

 

“I didn't know you had a son,” she said quietly.

 

MacCready stood up and walked away from her, hands in his pockets. He hated confronting it. Yes, he had a son, but it wasn't something he liked to advertise, especially in his line of work. And he loathed himself for being away from the boy, even if it was to ultimately save his life.

 

Barring a response from MacCready, Scarlet tried to offer some words of encouragement. “If it makes you feel any better, I understand what you're going through.”

 

_She has a child somewhere, too_. MacCready was hit by a wave of despair mixed with guilt. She was taking time from the struggles going on in her own life to help him with his problems. “What's your kid's name?” he asked, reaching out to her, acutely aware of the terrible circumstances that connected them.

 

“Shaun.” She choked up a little at the sound of his name.

 

“How old is he?” MacCready offered. He didn't want to push her, but he wanted to know more. He wanted to share her pain if he could, maybe lighten the load. He knew as well as anyone how hard it was.

 

“He's... not even a year old,” she said. “He was kidnapped while I was frozen in the vault. I woke up long enough to see the people who took him. And I saw them shoot my husband.”

 

He almost regretted asking. He didn't want to get her upset, and hated the idea of seeing her cry. But she seemed to hold herself together, still working at the terminal as she spoke.

 

“That's why I want to get to Diamond City eventually. There has to be someone there who can help me find him.”

 

“I'm sorry to hear about all that,” MacCready said, awkwardly looking at his feet. “Well when I'm done getting the cure for Duncan, if there's anything I can do to help you find your kid...”

 

“Thanks,” Scarlet said genuinely. She flashed him a grateful look, then went back to typing.

 

After a few moments she spoke again, this time triumphantly. “I'm in. I've got the passwords.” MacCready rushed over and stood behind her. “Let me write these down for you.” Scarlet rummaged through the desk and found a pen and paper, then began scribbling down some notes. “...terminal 1 dash 4, password is 'sentient.' Terminal 3 dash 2, password... 'abominable.'” She spoke to herself as she copied down several passwords, then handed the paper to MacCready.

 

He almost jumped up and down as he held that piece of paper in his hands. Finally, Duncan's cure was within his grasp. “Damn Wolf, thank you. You have no idea...” She popped the holotape out of the terminal and returned it, along with the other, to his shaking hands. Leaning back in her seat, she smiled proudly. “Please, you gotta let me give you some caps or something.”

 

“Just get that medicine for your son,” she said simply.

 

MacCready cracked her a grateful smile, his eyes beaming with hope, before he turned on his heel and bounded out of the door. _Time to stock up on some hardware._

* * *

 

 

 

Scarlet's eyes were down, studying her pip-boy as she flipped the dials, when a hand reached out and tapped her on the shoulder.

 

She jumped and turned around, her hand darting to her pistol, as the ghoul woman who had stopped her put her hands up in surrender. “Take it easy,” she said. “I just had a question for you.”

 

Scarlet had left the Memory Den and was on her way back to the State House to see John. He had acted somewhat annoyed with her when she left that morning.

 

_“_ _I promised MacCready I would help him with something,”_ she had said.

 

He couldn't hide the reticence in his eyes. _“Helpin' him with what exactly?”_ he had probed, making no secret of his jealousy.

 

_“_ _It's nothing you need to worry about, it shouldn't take me too long.”_ She tried to give him a disarming smile and set him at ease without getting into the details. MacCready's desire for secrecy was obvious, and she didn't want to be careless about sharing someone else's private information.

 

_“Just make sure you bring that ass back to me when you're done,”_ he had said with a suggestive grin.

 

She was striding quickly down the street, flushing excitedly at the thought of being with him again. And being suddenly sidetracked by this woman caused her instant irritation. She pulled her hand away from her holster and tried not to act too impatient. “What do you need?”

 

The woman sported a brown bob on her head, probably a wig, and wore a black vest with a long-sleeve white shirt underneath. Her eyes were small, beady even, and the hole in the center of her face was wide even for a ghoul. “I heard you know a thing or two about computers,” she said.

 

Scarlet couldn't help feeling a little proud, having already established a positive reputation. Although she was anxious to get back, she was excited at the opportunity to help someone yet again. “You need some help?” she asked.

 

“I got locked out of my terminal, and I can't figure out how to get back in. Thing's a piece of shit.”

 

“Maybe I can come by later and take a look at it,” she said. A locked up terminal didn't seem to be a pressing issue, and she was torn between offering her assistance and jumping back into bed with John.

 

“I really need to get back in there,” the woman said urgently. The corners of Scarlet's mouth turned down as she labored over what to do. The ghoul seemed to sense her inner turmoil, and reached into her pocket. “I'll give you 50 caps just to take a look at it.”

 

Scarlet eyed the satchel in the woman's hand. _More money couldn't hurt_ , she thought.

 

“It'll only take a minute, I promise,” she pressed, holding the money out to her.

 

With a little bit of reluctance, Scarlet grabbed the pouch and stuffed it into her pocket. “Alright, let's go take a look,” she said.

 

The ghoul smiled broadly, revealing a mouth half-full of yellowing teeth. “Excellent,” she said. “My house is right over here. Follow me.”

 

Scarlet looked longingly over her shoulder at the Old State House before following the ghoul down the empty alleyway to her home. _Hope I can make this quick_.

 


	10. H...M...K

“You were the last person who saw her!” Hancock roared, slamming the mercenary against the State House wall, his forearm sinking into the man's windpipe.

 

“I went straight to see KLEO after I left the Memory Den. Ask her!” he yelled back, his voice straining from the weight of Hancock's arm against it.

 

“Nobody else saw her after she left. She was alone with you in that room. You don't think that's just a little fucking suspicious?”

 

It was well past midnight. When Scarlet had failed to return, Hancock had immediately feared the worst and began scouring Goodneighbor for her. Everyone he talked to claimed they saw her going into the Memory Den with MacCready, and though a couple said they had seen her walking out a few hours later, no one seemed to know where she went after that.

 

He had trusted the merc initially; it wasn't like him to be stupid enough to try something with Scarlet again, especially after he'd nearly got the shit kicked out of him for it. But when MacCready showed up at the State House that night, and since he was nowhere closer to figuring out where she was, Hancock was beginning to second-guess the man's story.

 

MacCready pushed against Hancock's arm. He could have kicked him in the groin, or taken the knife from the ghoul's waist and shoved it into his side. But that would only have made him look guilty. He struggled to breathe, but otherwise took the punishment he was being given. “You think I don't wanna know where she went, either?” he choked out. She may not have exactly been cozy with him, but he still cared for her just the same, and felt like he owed her a debt for how she had helped him.

 

“I know you're jealous, you fucking bastard. You think I don't see it? I know what you did, and after all that you were still tryin' to get her alone.”

 

“It ain't like that!” He shouted with the rest of his breath, finally wresting Hancock's arm away from his neck. The force pushed Hancock back and he pulled his shot gun from his hip. MacCready answered in kind, readying his own pistol at the ghoul's head. “She was helping me hack some tapes. Find a cure for my son. He's sick.”

 

“Don't feed me your bullshit,” he snarled back.

 

“She wrote down these passwords for me,” he said, fumbling in his breast pocket for a scrap of paper. “Here.”

 

Hancock reached out cautiously and snatched the piece of paper from his hand, opening it. There was a list of numbers and words. It made little sense to him. “What the hell is this supposed to tell me?”

 

“I dunno. Maybe you know her handwriting?” he asked, grasping.

 

Hancock studied the document. He didn't know her handwriting. Hadn't been with her long enough to see it. The idea that MacCready had a sample of it made the ire rise anew in his throat, but as much as he didn't want to admit it, the story made sense. And it did look like something Scarlet would have written. The penmanship was neat, staying within the paper's ruled lines. Not like anything he had ever seen in his lifetime, and certainly nothing like MacCready's chicken scratches.

 

“That's all well and good,” he said, scathingly sarcastic, “But it doesn't tell me where she's at.”

 

“I'll help you find her if you want, Hancock, but you gotta believe me. I had nothin' to do with her disappearing.”

 

Hancock sneered down the sights of his shotgun, then slowly began to lower it. MacCready mirrored his movements, returning his drawn pistol to his holster. The two stared each other down, suspicious but hesitant. Each one had a healthy respect for the other, and a little bit of fear, too. Neither really wanted a confrontation, but they were both stubborn to a fault, unwilling to show any weakness.

 

The ghoul sighed. If MacCready was offering his help, he'd be a fool not to accept it. If something truly had happened to Scarlet, he would probably benefit from a keen set of eyes. But like most of the residents of Goodneighbor, he couldn't trust the mercenary completely. He had been stabbed in the back more than once.

 

“Alright then. You help me find her.” Then, he took the paper MacCready had given him, waved it once through the air, and tucked it into his red overcoat. “You don't get this back until you do.”

 

MacCready was infuriated, but nodded his agreement. It wasn't as if he was about to go gallivanting around the Commonwealth while she was missing. He didn't appreciate Hancock holding the key to Duncan's cure for ransom, but he thought it a fair enough compromise to spare him from further scrutiny while they sussed out her whereabouts.

 

The two of them looked toward the staircase; Fahrenheit slammed the door and trudged up the steps. Hancock had sent her out to gather more information, and he was anxious to hear her report.

 

“Nothin',” she said, as she entered the parlor and set her gun on the couch.

 

Hancock's shoulders slumped. “Not a clue, huh?”

 

“I was out knocking on doors, didn't talk to anyone who saw her. And they all acted like they were being pretty straight with me.” She searched through Hancock's liquor cabinet for a beer, biting off the cap before taking a swig.

 

Hancock growled a little and looked out the window. _How could she disappear without a trace like that?_ She wouldn't have left without saying something. She wasn't the type. He knew she was looking for her son, but she wasn't foolhardy enough to run out into the ruins by herself. Something had to have happened. Something bad.

 

“There was one person who was conveniently absent while I was making the rounds, though,” said Fahrenheit. MacCready and Hancock's ears pricked up. “Bobbi No-nose wasn't at home. Wasn't at the Rexford, or the Rail. And I asked a couple drifters and they said they hadn't seen her in two days.”

 

The two men shared a look of affirmation. Bobbi wasn't your typical Goodneighbor scum. She had a history of bad deals and licentious schemes. Hancock didn't put it past her to pull something like this. What her end game was, he wasn't sure, but he thought it a good enough place to start.

 

“Let's get the fuck out of here,” he told MacCready. He nodded his head, ready to follow the mayor and give him the necessary back-up. “Thanks Fahr,” Hancock said. He grabbed a handful of shotgun shells before making a hasty exit from the State House, the mercenary on his heels.

 

* * *

 

 

 

When Hancock kicked in Bobbi's door, they weren't sure what they expected to find. A roomful of hired guns, maybe, or a booby trap. But it was silent as the two swept the place, keeping their guns at the ready.

 

“She definitely left town,” noted MacCready, finding the lack of caps and weaponry in her home suspicious. She'd obviously bolted, and it probably wasn't a coincidence that the vault-dweller was missing along with her.

 

After searching her bedroom, they went down to her basement, desperate for any kind of clue. She had a terminal, but it was password protected. MacCready remarked wryly that Wolf could have hacked it for them.

 

Hancock was about to give up when he felt a cold gust of air. He looked at the basement window, the probable source of the draft, but it was closed tight. And the bottom of his coat rippled slightly with the force. It was low to the ground...

 

He holstered his shotgun and started examining the walls. Maybe there was a door he had missed. Scanning over the room, he noticed something out of place. A bookshelf in the corner was askew, one of its sides sticking out awkwardly. He approached the piece of furniture and felt the draft again, stronger this time.

 

“Hey Mac, help me out with this.” MacCready came over and assisted Hancock in pulling the bookshelf away from the wall. As they strained to move it, a large, oblong hole became visible right in the wall of the basement.

 

“That's probably where she went,” said MacCready.

 

Hancock pulled the shotgun from his hip and cocked it, his brow set with determination. “Let's go, then.”

 

The two of them crept into the tunnel, Hancock leading. MacCready drew the rifle from his shoulder and hung back a little, peering through his night-vision scope. “Doesn't look like there's anything up ahead,” he said.

 

They delved in further. They were descending rapidly and the tunnel was broadening. Pretty soon Hancock was standing face-to-face with a sewer grate, ankle-deep in an irradiated puddle of water. At first glance it didn't look like there was anywhere else to go. “What now?” he mumbled to himself.

 

Then, out of the corner of his eye, the earth looked like it was starting to shift. It shuddered once, then burst forth, revealing a shell, rows of claws, and buggy black eyes. “Mirelurks!” he growled. He immediately fired shot after shot, but the creature had hunched forward, deflecting the rounds with its protective shell.

 

MacCready was still far enough back to be safely away from the action. He dropped to a knee, looked down his scope, and tried to line up a shot. Hancock was backing away while he fired and reloaded. But as he stepped backward he heard a crunching beneath his boot, and up from the ground rose another mirelurk. This one was larger and hissed as it sprang to life. The spaces between its exoskeleton glowed with radiation.

 

The sniper kept his aim steady and pointed the end of his barrel at the creature's face. Before it had a chance to protect itself, he fired a single shot, piercing it in the mouth. It shrieked as radioactive fluid oozed from its wound before dropping to the ground, dead.

 

Hancock was still fending off the first mirelurk when yet another came up from the murky sewage. Predicting its movement, MacCready took it down quickly with a bullet to its sensitive and exposed underbelly.

 

Hancock had finally reloaded his shotgun when the animal lunged forward, this time raising its thorax and opening its mandibles. The ghoul had the perfect shot and fired a shell into its mouth, the resulting explosion of fluids spraying against his face before it collapsed.

 

An eerie silence flooded back in. Hancock swept his eyes over the floor, ready to fire if another one decided to pop up, but the danger was apparently gone for the moment.

 

“You alright boss?” MacCready stepped out of the shadows and came to his side.

 

“Yeah,” he replied, rubbing his blood-stained cheek against the sleeve of his coat. “Looks like we hit a dead end, though.”

 

MacCready could see a faint red light coming from the corner. “This way,” he said, leading them down another passage.

 

The two snaked through the roughly-carved chute. It seemed to be nothing but pure clay, save a dripping pipe running above their heads. Eventually, though, it broadened into what appeared to be some kind of pre-war maintenance room.

 

When another cluster of mirelurks burst from the earth, they were ready. “Heads up!” yelled Hancock, pulling the pin from a frag grenade and chucking it at them. The explosion shook the walls and the beasts wailed. The men were briefly showered with mud and shell fragments, then Hancock ran towards them, cursing, while MacCready covered him with his rifle.

 

One by one the mirelurks dropped. MacCready took his time, making sure to land each shot in one of the crustacean's heads, while Hancock spun around, spraying bullets without any regard to where they landed. But that, combined with the crippling damage of the grenade, seemed to work out as the action finally died down.

 

Their ears were still ringing from the tumult. The two regained their bearings and swept the area, making sure all the monsters were out for good. “I wonder how Bobbi got past all this,” MacCready wondered aloud.

 

“I think I know how,” said Hancock. Something bright white on the floor had attracted his attention. He crouched over to pick it up, holding it out so that the merc could see. It was a fish, freshly dead, with most of its flesh still intact except for the bite taken out of its midsection. Its spiny ribs were poking out, catching the little bit of light there was.

 

“So she baited them, huh?” MacCready remarked.

 

“She's one smart bitch,” Hancock huffed, dropping the half-eaten fish back to the ground. “Figured if someone did come looking for her, they'd be laid out by the 'lurks. Or at least they'd buy her some time.”

 

The two continued down the tunnel, beckoned by a faint light somewhere far off. They clung to the walls like shadows, silently making their way through. If there were more mirelurks around, they were better off not disturbing them.

 

The light became stronger, the florescence of it making them squint, before the narrow path they were following spread out into a caved-in subway station. The chamber was well-illuminated, if crumbling, and the two men dropped their guard a little as they entered.

 

Someone had cleared this place out already. Dead feral ghouls were sprawled out over the subway tracks and station benches. Their foul blood was still fresh in the air and running from their bullet-wounds, pooling together in the cracks and crevices of the tile floor.

 

MacCready put his arm up to his nose, trying to fend off the stench. “At least they're all dead,” he stated. They looked around for a moment, Hancock assessing the bodies to ensure there weren't any sleepers, MacCready rummaging through old newsstands and Nuka-Cola machines. There wasn't anything to go on in here, either. Bobbi had been careful to cover her tracks in that respect.

 

Without speaking, they trudged up the station steps. They couldn't leave the room fool of dead ghouls soon enough. Peeking through the door, they cautiously stepped out into the dark early morning of the Commonwealth.

 

The breeze was steady and lifeless. They scanned their surroundings, trying to figure out where they had ended up. There was a Brahmin corpse that looked to be about a week old next to a rusty automobile, and a row of buildings that had once been a strip mall on the outskirts of downtown Boston. But it was apparent that Bobbi was long gone, and Scarlet with her. “God damn it!” muttered Hancock through clenched teeth.

 

“She could be halfway across the Commonwealth by now,” said MacCready, stowing his rifle on his back and lighting a cigarette.

 

“We should head back to Goodneighbor,” said Hancock. “If Bobbi did this, she did it with a motive. Sooner or later, something's bound to show up.”

 

“You got it, Boss.” MacCready kept his tone light, but he was worried as hell. He hoped Hancock was right about Bobbi, that she had some kind of secret motive that they hadn't ascertained. But it seemed just as likely to MacCready that the vault-dweller had been sold to slavers, or killed because she had accidentally witnessed something. It could even be the case that Bobbi had nothing to do with the situation entirely, the whole thing being just a randomly occurring set of events.

 

At any rate, it was too early to draw any real conclusions. Seeing the faint light of dawn on the horizon, they headed for home, walking wordlessly into the ruins.

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Wakey, wakey!”

 

Scarlet blinked several times, then opened her eyes to the sight of a man hunched over and peering into her face. He had dark brown skin and sported a sickening grin, his tongue running over pearly white teeth.

 

She was lying with her cheek pressed against a cool concrete floor. As she attempted to roll to her hands and knees, her right wrist was squeezed against the icy metal handcuff around it. The other cuff was secured to a radiator pipe. Compensating for her restricted movement, she rolled back against a wall and pushed herself into a sitting position, settling her feet and backside firmly on the floor.

 

Adjusting her glasses, Scarlet quickly assessed her surroundings. A row of naked mannequins was lined up in front of a broken window. Across the room, several storage shelves surrounded a counter with a cash register. She was inside some kind old clothing store, probably, but everything wearable had been picked clean long ago.

 

The shop she was in was within another building, a mall perhaps. Her line of sight ended with a broad hallway outside the shop's entrance. There was some sunlight making its way in, but it was being filtered through the slats of boarded up windows.

 

A cluster of heavily-armored men stood just outside the old clothing store, looking in at her. But she could barely see past the daunting figure in front of her, who squatted down just inches from her face.

 

“How you feelin'?” he asked, the sarcasm evident in his voice.

 

Scarlet thought back to the last thing she could remember. She was sitting at the ghoul woman's terminal, attempting to hack her way back in. The woman was standing behind her, a little too close for comfort. Then she placed a bony hand on her shoulder as a stinging sensation pricked the side of her neck.

 

And then everything had gone dark. Whatever had transpired between there and here, it was totally absent from her memory. She had probably been drugged, and whatever the substance was it hadn't completely left her bloodstream. She was groggy and dizzy, struggling to stay conscious as she gleaned whatever she could from her dimly lit surroundings.

 

The man in front of her just sat there, smiling, waiting for some kind of response.

 

“I'm thirsty,” she said hoarsely.

 

The man said nothing but grumbled as he stood up. He left briefly and returned with an old nuka-cola bottle filled with dingy brown water. Popping off the cap, he placed it in front of her and knelt back down.

 

She eyed the bottle with some suspicion. It didn't look all that appealing. But her thirst was overwhelming; her throat burned as she attempted to swallow nothing, and her head was like a sun-baked sponge. Casting a hestitant glance at the man in front of her, Scarlet grabbed the bottle and chugged its contents, trying to ignore the musty flavor.

 

The man snatched the bottle from her as she finished it. Her head whipped back and forth as the life slowly returned to her, attempting to get any sort of clue as to where she was.

 

“Where am I?” she asked, quietly but firmly.

 

“The boss'll be by in a minute to fill you in. You just sit tight.” The man ran his index finger slowly along the side of her face while maintaining his off-putting grin. She recoiled at the touch, prompting a low rumble of laughter.

 

Heavy footsteps thudded toward them and Scarlet craned her neck to look up at the man. “Thanks, Barnes,” he said in a sandpapery voice. The sides of his head were neatly shaved and the rest of his hair hung on the top in greasy, light brown mop. His angular jaw was coated in stubble, which he stroked leisurely with his gloved hand.

 

Barnes pushed himself to his feet and stepped to the side. “You need anything else right now, Winlock?”

 

“Hang back for a minute,” Winlock answered. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it thoughtfully. “We'll see where this goes.”

 

Barnes moseyed over to an empty display rack and leaned casually against it, crossing his arms. Scarlet swallowed thickly. Even if she hadn't been handcuffed she would have been paralyzed with fear. Her pulse was lurching at breakneck speed, though each beat seemed to feel weaker than the last. Panic rose in her throat along with an acute nausea, which she attempted to keep at bay.

 

Through the terror in her blood Scarlet attempted to maintain her rationality _._ She stared hard at Winlock, not wanting to appear too weak. _I feel like I've seen him before,_ she mused. But where would that have been? Maybe he was a Goodneighbor resident...

 

“Where am I?” she repeated. She hoped the man didn't hear the quavering in her voice.

 

“You're in a safe place,” Winlock answered dryly, pacing in front of her. “In the Commonwealth. But I really can't tell you exactly where.”

 

He hocked noisily, then turned his head and spit. _I have seen him before..._ Scarlet thought back to the day a group of men had shown up in town, demanding that Hancock give them MacCready. This man was the same who had led the group of gunners that day, she was sure of it.

 

“MacCready's gone. He's probably out of the Commonwealth by now,” she said confidently, mimicking what she had heard Hancock say to them that day. If getting MacCready was still their end game, and she was just a means to that end, she wasn't going to be a willing participant. No matter how frightened she was.

 

The back of Winlock's hand slammed against Scarlet's cheek, nearly knocking the glasses from her face. The blow was hard, but bearable, and she whimpered more out of shock than pain.

 

“Don't try to lie to me, _Wolf_.” Her name was almost clamped back into his mouth as he clenched his teeth. Scarlet's free hand reached up to re-center her glasses, then graze against her cheek to see if it was bleeding. Not finding any blood when she pulled her fingertips away, she settled back against the wall, breathing deeply but more steadily as the shock of his hit snapped her out of her own panic.

 

Winlock took a knee in front of her and took one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it aside. She followed the release of smoke up and over his shoulder, focusing briefly on the back wall. _H...M...K..._ What was left of a painted label was just barely visible above the shop's door frame.

 

Barnes sauntered over and stood ominously behind him, blocking her field of view. Her eyes darted back to Winlock, whose gaze was fixed solidly on hers.

 

“I'm sure your boyfriend'll be happy to give us MacCready once he finds out we've got you,” said Winlock smugly. “We've just gotta let him know you're here with us, then you'll be free before you know it.”

 

Her predicament was beginning to make sense now. An involuntary shudder worked its way through her body. She hoped Hancock wouldn't give in so easily. She knew the mayor was a proud man, but had yet to see him pushed to any kind of breaking point. The closest thing to weakness she had seen in him was the other night, when he had told her about his past. _“_ _I_ _vowed I'd never stand by and watch. Ever again.”_

 

Scarlet hoped for his sake that he wouldn't do anything rash. But she knew better. He was headstrong to a fault. If he knew where she was, he'd probably burst his way in, guns blazing. _If_ he knew. _I don't even know where I am_.

 

The synapses in her brain were firing rapidly, trying to fill in the meaning of the chipped lettering on the wall. _H...M...K_. This place looked kind of familiar, too. _Did I come here before the war?_

 

_Haymarket Mall._ The realization hit her like a bolt of lightning, and she tried not to let her excitement show.

 

“So what d'ya think, Barnes? Hancock's gonna want some proof that we got her.”

 

“What about this?” Barnes snatched the black frames from her face and dangled them in front of Winlock.

 

Scarlet's nose wrinkled up and her eyes squinted. “I need those!” she said, with more desperation than she had wanted to reveal. She reached out her left hand and grasped for them, but Barnes held them just out of reach and smiled arrogantly. She was nearsighted to the point of being almost blind, and she couldn't imagine a replacement pair would be easy to come by.

 

“Or this...” Barnes grabbed the wrist that had just reached out to him and pulled it taught. He unfastened the Pip-Boy and jerked it away, letting her arm fall back against her.

 

“We don't want him to think she's dead,” said Winlock. He motioned for Barnes to replace the glasses on her nose but took the pip-boy in his hands. He studied it for a moment, flipping a couple of switches and running his thumb over the screen. “This'll be worth some caps,” he remarked to himself.

 

Scarlet watched as he inspected it. He turned it over a few times in his hands, then pressed a small button above the display. An empty holotape deck sprang up out of the device, and his face broadened into a sinister smile.

 

“You remember that office where we got the handcuffs?” he asked, turning to Barnes.

 

“Yeah, what about it?”

 

“I think I saw some holotapes lyin' around. Go see if you can find a blank one.”

 

Barnes nodded knowingly. “You got it.”

 

Barnes left, leaving the two of them staring darkly at each other. Scarlet fought the urge to avert her eyes as Winlock grabbed her by the chin with one of his gloved hands, pulling her face toward him and squeezing her cheeks between his fingertips. “Now you're gonna be a good girl, and help me record a message for your boyfriend, got it?”

 

Scarlet nodded tersely against his hand, fighting back a wave of tears. There wasn't any point in putting up a fight. At least not now. Her weapon was gone, and her pockets had probably been searched. There wasn't anything of use within reach, either. For the moment, she grudgingly resigned herself to her fate. She would have to wait for an opportunity, but there was no telling when or if one might come up.

 

Barnes returned after a few minutes, holding up a red holotape. “Found one,” he said.

 

Winlock stood up and took it from him, pushing it unceremoniously into the pip-boy's tape deck. “All right, vault-dweller,” he said, the green glow of the screen lighting up his craven sneer. “Let's think of something real nice to say.”


	11. A Force to be Reckoned With

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I suppose I should put a trigger warning in here. Non-complicit sexual activity.

“Strong want to fight! Strong tired of standing and not fighting!”

 

The super mutant held his sledgehammer over his burly shoulder, readying it in his grip. He paced back and forth behind Goodneighbor's front gate, the sound of approaching gunfire steadily ramping up his anger.

 

“Not yet, big guy,” said Hancock, holding out his hand in front of the beast. MacCready clutched his rifle to his chest, ready to put a bullet between the monster's eyes if need be. Hancock vouched for Strong's character; the mutant had carried the injured vault-dweller back from the Trinity Tower ruins after slaughtering a slew of his own brethren. But he had been keeping one eye on him while he had been back in town. So far, the monster had leisurely patrolled the streets of Goodneighbor, gripping his giant sledgehammer but refraining from using it. But regardless of his calm demeanor thus far, he was still a super mutant, and mutants weren't something MacCready was used to turning his back on. And now his behavior was turning unpredictable, as he seemed to be struggling against his own self-restraint.

 

The rounds they heard were only warning shots. Several short bursts would blast into the air, followed by whooping and shouting. At least a dozen sets of feet were stomping through the dust, coming closer and closer, until they shuffled and halted some distance beyond the front gate.

 

“We're not here to fight, Hancock!” a man's voice shouted over the barrier. “Come on out, let's chat for a minute.”

 

Hancock and MacCready shared a knowing look. “Winlock,” said the mercenary under his breath.

 

The flesh on the back of Hancock's neck prickled and he ground his molars together. _So these bastards were the ones that took her._ His blood was seething, as he put together the pieces in his mind. They weren't going to give up trying to get MacCready, but the sniper was elusive and remained untouchable behind Goodneighbor's walls.

 

Scarlet, on the other hand, was greener than a radroach. Bobbi had likely found a way to lure her off long enough to get her into the hands of the Gunners. _Probably got a lot of caps out of the deal_ , he thought. Then, they had enough leverage to make a bargain with the mayor of Goodneighbor. It was a lot safer than trying to bust their way in. Downright cowardly, even.

 

MacCready appeared to have come to a similar conclusion. The two of them stood silently behind the front door. Fahrenheit hung back with her minigun locked and loaded, and the neighborhood watchmen were gathering around her, waiting for further instructions.

 

“I'll go talk to 'em,” MacCready stated decisively, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and reaching for the door.

 

“No,” said Hancock, putting a firm hand on his arm. “You're not goin' anywhere.”

 

MacCready noted the burning anger in the ghoul's black eyes. He wasn't one to be fucked around or bullied into submission, and he had stood up for the residents of Goodneighbor on countless occasions. But now, the vault-dweller's safety was on the line. MacCready felt the choice was obvious; he would turn himself over to the Gunners if it meant they would give her up. He surprised himself, even, at his own selflessness. But after all, he felt reasonably sure that he could handle himself even if he was forced back into their company. The girl, on the other hand... he didn't want to think about what they might do to her.

 

Hancock's inner turmoil was almost bubbling through his pores. He cursed himself for allowing MacCready to stay in town and pledging to protect him if the need arose. Then again, he hadn't anticipated falling so hard for Scarlet. There were a lot of good reasons for a powerful man like the mayor of Goodneighbor not to get too attached to someone, and this was a picture perfect scenario.

 

As much as he wanted to grab MacCready by the collar and throw his ass out of town, he knew it wasn't the right move. No matter how badly he wanted to save Scarlet, handing over the merc would be the worst thing he could do in the long run. It was more than just protecting his reputation; he had a town full of innocent people who counted on him to keep them safe. If word got out that the mayor could be so easily manipulated, he'd have a lot more than a few Gunners to contend with.

 

He swallowed his anger. He had made his choice. “Go wait in the State House, Mac,” he said, his voice twisted and dark.

 

“But Hancock-”

 

“Give me some cover in case things turn sour. For now, we're gonna try to reason with 'em.”

 

MacCready dipped his head resolutely, but hesitated before following Hancock's command and taking shelter in the State House.

 

“Strong smash?” the mutant offered, shifting his weight back and forth eagerly.

 

“Only if they try something stupid,” he said. “Fahrenheit, you and the rest of the men stand back and look mean. Nobody reach for their guns unless she gives you the word.”

 

“Aye-aye,” she said, cocking her head toward the men, who fanned out behind her.

 

“Come on in!” yelled Hancock, summoning all of his confidence. “Everyone's welcome in Goodneighbor!”

 

They listened as the gang approached and the front door swung open. Winlock came in first, followed by a line of around ten men, armed to the teeth and holding heavy weaponry close to their chests. Winlock stopped several paces short of Hancock and held up his hand, signaling his cohorts to form a protective semi-circle around him. Winlock didn't bother sporting a weapon, and instead crossed his arms haughtily over his chest.

 

“Guess you know why we're here,” he said, snorting a wad of mucus into his throat before spewing it on the ground.

 

“I already told ya, that little shit stain left town. If you want him that bad, get off your asses and go find him,” said Hancock. He lit a cigarette and looked off, shrugging his shoulders in a cocky gesture.

 

“We got an inside opinion that you ain't exactly tellin' the truth.”

 

Hancock smiled, narrowing his eyes at the Gunner. “Bobbi's probably long gone with all those caps right now, laughing all the way to New Vegas.”

 

“Well I hope for your sake Bobbi wasn't lyin', cause we got our hands on that little vault-dweller of yours, and we don't intend on letting her go until you hand over MacCready.”

 

Hancock stifled the urge to put a shotgun shell in Winlock's head. He tried not to think of her, alone and helpless, forsaken to waiting in a dark room at their mercy.

 

“And where are you keepin' her, exactly?” he asked.

 

“Ha! As if we'd tell you.”

 

“How do I know you even got her?”

 

Winlock chuckled. “Kinda figured you'd ask that.” He uncrossed his arms, revealing a Pip-Boy hugging his left wrist. Hancock's flesh crawled as Winlock pushed a button on top, ejecting a holotape with a light beep. “Had her compose you a little love note.”

 

Hancock snatched the tape from the air as Winlock tossed it to him. He really didn't need the proof, but he couldn't justify going any further without it.

 

“It's an easy choice, really,” Winlock went on, clasping his hands behind his back and stretching. “All you gotta do is let us come get MacCready, and we'll give her back to you, all safe and sound. Maybe even in one piece.”

 

Hancock couldn't help but scowl at the implied threat. “What did you do to her?”

 

“Nothing, yet.” Winlock motioned for one of his men to come forward. He paused, letting his words sink in, before snatching a cigarette and a lighter from the man's breast pocket. “I guess what happens to her depends on if you wanna cooperate or not.” The end of the cigarette flared up and he sucked in a puff of smoke, then replaced the borrowed lighter before exhaling calmly through his nose.

 

“What do you want MacCready for, anyway?” asked Hancock. If there was some other way he could solve this, he would. If it was caps they were after, it would be easy enough to hammer out a deal. Maybe even convince them to do a job, saving his both his ass and his face.

 

“Nobody leaves the Gunners and gets away with it,” Winlock said, his voice low and ominous. “It ain't some kind of social club. One you're in, you're in for life.”

 

“I know he's got a handsome face and you're probably dyin' to get him back in bed with you,” Hancock said through a cheeky smile. “But his heart belongs to the open road.”

 

“It ain't just about rep. The man's got a head full of secrets. Contacts. Hideouts. Passwords. Ain't no way we're just gonna let him waltz around the Commonwealth, flappin' his gums to the highest bidder.”

 

“Suppose I take care of him for ya'?” Offered Hancock. If they wanted him dead, it would be easy enough to figure out a way to stage something.

 

“Not a chance.” Winlock went on, undeterred. “Look, it's a real simple choice. You give him to us now, and nobody has to get hurt.”

 

“And if I don't?” asked Hancock, his skin crawling at the anticipation of white might happen next.

 

“If you don't, then I can't make you any promises.” His face contorted into a perverse grin. “A mercenary's life gets pretty lonely.”

 

The bile churned in Hancock's stomach and his hand was itching to grab the shotgun at his waist. He wanted to climb up the State House wall and pull the damn merc out of the window, watch his legs break as he hit the pavement. But he stood there, saying nothing. He was out of ideas, and there didn't seem to be any easy way out of this mess.

 

Winlock observed the ghoul for a moment, trying to read his expression. It was clear that they weren't going to get their hands on MacCready just yet. But he didn't want to give him too much leeway. It was coming down to a battle of wills, and he knew the Gunners had the upper hand. But they couldn't wait around forever. This standoff needed an expiration date.

 

“I'll leave a few men waiting for ya at the apartments down the road,” Winlock said. “MacCready's got 24 hours to show up.”

 

“And if he doesn't?”

 

“The bitch dies,” he said flatly.

 

A warm wind rippled through the street, catching the ends of Hancock's red overcoat and rustling Winlock's hair. They had reached an impasse. The time for talking was over. There was a bitter silence settling over everyone. Fingers twitched against triggers, and shaky hands hovered over holsters.

 

“We'll be on our way, then,” said Winlock, finally breaking the tension. He flicked his cigarette at the ghoul's feet. “If you change your mind, you know where to find us.”

 

With a snap of his fingers, the Gunners began filing out of the gate the way they had come in. They pulled Winlock into the middle of their line before the last man turned, slamming the door behind him.

 

The people of Goodneighbor stood in quiet anticipation as they listened for the party's retreat. As the sound of their chatter faded into the distance, the townsfolk carefully relaxed, mumbling to each other about what had happened.

 

Hancock was unaware of anything else around him. He stared at the crimson holotape in his hand. _It's only gonna make me mad if I listen to it,_ he thought. But he needed to hear her voice, no matter how much pain it might cause him.

 

MacCready's approach broke his trance. “I have a few ideas of where we can start looking,” he said. The crushing guilt of having been spared for her drove him forward. He knew of some areas where the Gunners frequented. If they started looking now, they may just have enough time to find her.

 

“I gotta listen to this,” said Hancock, his eyes fixed on the object in his palm. “Maybe we'll be able to hear something in the background. Get a clue to where they're keeping her.”

 

“Let's go then,” said MacCready.

 

“Strong, you stay here by the gate. If one of those bastards comes back, you have my permission to smash his fucking face in.”

 

“Strong smash!” he said gleefully.

 

“Fahrenheit, double the patrol. And get some men to camp out at Bobbi's place, in case she decides to crawl back out of the gutter.”

 

“You got it, boss.”

 

Hancock followed MacCready to the Memory Den. Irma bolted upright from the chaise lounge she had been resting on as the men strode in, their faces stern with purpose.

 

“I need that terminal again, Irma,” said MacCready. He walked briskly past her, Hancock on his heels. It was clear he wasn't going to wait to ask her permission.

 

“Whatever you need, sweetie,” she called after them, too confused to come up with a question.

 

MacCready sat down at Irma's desk and awkwardly pushed a few buttons on the terminal. “Gimme the tape,” he said, extending his hand.

 

Hancock gave it to MacCready and stood back, head down, dreading the thought of what he might hear.

 

The terminal buzzed as it sucked in the tape, making a few clicks as it snapped hold. The deck whirred a couple of times, then stopped. A line of green text crept onto the screen. _PLAY TAPE,_ it said. MacCready hesitated slightly before striking the enter key, then the two listened closely as the audio crackled to life.

 

_“_ _Alright, we're recording,”_ a voice said. MacCready recognized it as Barnes.

 

_“_ _Tell him you're okay, little girl,”_ said Winlock, his voice overflowing with mock sympathy.

 

Scarlet was breathing heavily, sucking in air erratically several times before exhaling. _“I'm – I'm -”_ she stammered between shaking gasps.

 

_“_ _Quit cryin' and say something,”_ said Winlock impatiently.

 

_“_ _I'm alright, Hancock. They've got me at-”_

 

Her voice was cut off by the dampened crack. Hancock recognized it as the sound of flesh against flesh. Scarlet mewled a little but didn't cry out. _“Don't try to tell him where you are, you dumb bitch!”_

 

Scarlet's breathing sped up again. _“Hep.... hep... hep... haaaa.”_ It sounded like she was hyperventilating. Hancock gripped the back of a nearby chair, as if to steady himself.

 

_“_ _Can you tell 'em what we want?”_ Asked Barnes, his voice distant.

 

_“_ _They want MacCready,”_ she said. She was panting hard, almost struggling for air.

 

_“_ _Calm the fuck down_ _and tell him to hand that son of a bitch over,”_ Winlock pushed, his irritation getting the best of him.

 

_“_ _They said they'll let me go if they get MacCready...”_ she paused and exhaled, _“I don't believe them, though.”_ Her voice was tinted with some defiance. Hancock's heart melted with pride at the sound.

 

_“That's enough, stop the tape.”_

 

Scarlet's ragged breaths could be heard frantically speeding up in the background before the holotape stopped.

 

“I couldn't get much out of that,” MacCready said somberly.

 

“Play it again,” said Hancock. “Maybe we missed something.”

 

MacCready restarted the tape and they listened to it once more. Their ears strained for some kind of background noise, an echo, the buzz of a turret, anything that might have given them the faintest clue. But the tape was short, and the sound of Scarlet's terrified breaths overrode every break in their conversation.

 

Hancock put his head in his hands. _What the fuck do I do?_ He couldn't think straight. He hadn't slept in almost 48 hours. The sun was on its way below the horizon. He only had one day to figure out what he was going to do, but he felt completely burned out. He wanted badly to just burst into tears; at least then he'd get some kind of release. But the tension only kept building and everything was spinning out of control. For all of his cunning and experience, he had no idea what their next step would be.

 

“Play it again,” said Hancock.

 

“Don't torture yourself,” said MacCready. “It's not gonna help. If you wanna do something, let me go out to the apartments and scope out the situation. I might be able to listen in, get some info.”

 

It was a decent enough idea, but Hancock didn't think it wise for MacCready to be the one to go out. “You stay in Goodneighbor, I don't wanna risk them catching you. I'll get Fahrenheit to find someone to play spy.”

 

“What do you want me to do, then?” asked MacCready. He felt just as helpless as the mayor, and hated himself on top of it. MacCready didn't exactly have a lot of friends. And friends like Hancock were, he surmised, usually around based on some kind of mutual exchange. When Hancock had let the mercenary crash in the Rail's VIP room, there was an understanding that MacCready would lend a hand to Goodneighbor's defense. He had set himself up on a rooftop and scanned the nearby ruins for threats, either taking them out with his sniper rifle, or providing ample warning for the town's citizens to take care of things.

 

It was more than that, though. The two had something of a bond that made MacCready both elated and uncomfortable. Hancock went out of his way to watch out for him. They had spent more than a few nights at the Rail together, getting drunk and sharing their fucked-up experiences. They were men composed of salt and grit, of pride and regret. With so much in common, it was natural that the two found confidence in each other. And Hancock, with a few decades up on the young man, was eager to share his wisdom. And whether or not MacCready acknowledged it, he was grateful.

 

He was well aware that Hancock was more than fond of the vault-dweller, though. He wasn't sure of the extent of their relationship, which perturbed him slightly, but he told himself it was none of his business. He could tell that Hancock had it bad for her, though. And if MacCready was ready to hand himself over to save her, he was amazed that the ghoul hadn't done it already. His insides burned with reticence and self-loathing at the idea of something happening to her for the sake of his own hide.

 

Hancock stood silently for a moment, taking the ejected holotape from MacCready and sliding it into his pocket. _What could we do?_ As amped up as he was to take the fight to the Gunners, it would be suicidal to go looking for Scarlet without something to go on.

 

“We'll have to wait for a lead,” he said, avoiding MacCready's eyes. “I think we oughta get some sleep before we do anything else. We're not gonna be much use to Wolfie if we die of exhaustion before we get to her.”

 

MacCready nodded. “I'm gonna need some whiskey if I'm gonna be able to relax.”

 

“And some jet,” Hancock agreed. “Let's go to the Rail.”

 

The men exited the Memory Den in silence, Scarlet's absence darkening their steps as they went to drown their sorrows.

 

* * *

 

 

The guards stationed outside the clothing store began to stir as the sound of boots came thundering down the hallway. Scarlet sat still, holding her knees to her chest, and watched as some of the Gunners who had left earlier that day come rejoined them. There was no more light coming through the boarded windows. It was dark, and she unconsciously reached for her Pip-Boy to check the exact time. Remembering that Winlock had taken it from her, she sighed and rested her head against the wall behind her.

 

She had been racking her brain all day trying to come up with an escape plan. If she had a wire or pen cap or just about anything else, she felt pretty sure that she could have picked the lock on the handcuffs. But even if she did, there wasn't any getting past the legion of armed guards in her path. Especially not without a weapon.

 

When she had asked about her laser pistol, Barnes obligingly told her where to find it. “We're keepin' it safe,” he said, pointing to a large green steamer trunk outside the shop. “You'll get it back later, we promise,” he said condescendingly. There were too many Gunners around to even think about sneaking out and reclaiming her weapon. But she fantasized about it just the same, and the thought of somehow breaking free and taking them down kept her going while she tried to think of something more reasonable.

 

Winlock and Barnes pushed their way through the commotion. Scarlet cringed a little when she saw Winlock's probing eyes dart over to her. The sides of her face were still raw where he had hit her, and the thought of him striking her again gave her goosebumps. But she wasn't going to play nice with her kidnappers. If they wanted to give her attitude, she was ready to give it right back. There wasn't any use in crying, even though she had done so earlier when they forced her to record the tape for Hancock. _I hope they can figure this out_ , she thought as they recorded her voice between irregular sobs _._

 

Scarlet's eyes and ears were wide open, taking in every snippet of conversation she could. None of it was very important, but if something useful came out, she wasn't going to miss it. The men made a small fire and started drinking as they gathered around it, roasting a dead mole rat over the flames. Her stomach rumbled reflexively and she salivated at the smell of the sizzling meat.

 

Once it had been cooked to their satisfaction, the men dug in, ripping hunks of flesh off its bones and shoveling it into their mouths. Winlock, after eating his fill, grabbed a piece of meat and entered the shop. He slowly approached Scarlet, who closed her eyes tightly and tucked her face to her chest.

 

“Ahem,” the mercenary cleared his throat. “You hungry?”

 

She opened her eyes cautiously and looked up at him. He towered above her, casting an enveloping shadow against the outside firelight. She said nothing, but she unconsciously licked her lips as she eyed the piece of mole rat in his fingers.

 

“Have some,” he said, stooping down. With a wary look, she snatched the meat from him and stuffed it into her mouth, not bothering to savor it before choking it down in one gulp.

 

“You want more?” he asked, his voice emotionless.

 

Scarlet shook her head. She was definitely hungry, but was too stubborn to ask these men for any favors.

 

“Suit yourself,” he said. He pulled a knife from his boot and began using the edge to dig the bits of mole rat out from underneath his nails.

 

She looked down at where he had removed the knife. Hooked over one of the crossings of his shoelaces was a bobby pin. _If I can get a hold of that..._ she thought. But how would she manage to pull it off? It was a long shot, but she didn't have any other ideas.

 

“Did you get MacCready?” she asked. She would try to keep him nearby while she formulated a plan.

 

“Well you're still here, so what the fuck do you think?” he asked, still occupied with cleaning his nails.

 

“What did Hancock say?”

 

“That ghoul's one stubborn asshole.”

 

Scarlet smiled inwardly. She was glad he hadn't given up MacCready, even if it meant a longer captivity with the Gunners. She worried for the ailing son he had left miles away. She hoped that he was off at Med-Tek now, getting his cure.

 

“The way Bobbi made it sound, mother fucker's sweet on you. But now I'm startin' to think he doesn't give a shit.” A lump grew in Scarlet's throat as Winlock continued. “He didn't even flinch when I said I was gonna kill you.”

 

_He didn't say anything about me?_ She tried to imagine the scene back at Goodneighbor, with Winlock threatening as he had before, and the mayor calmly standing his ground. Of course he had to save face. But he wasn't actually going to let her die, was he?

 

Scarlet tried not to get caught up in pondering the specifics of her relationship with Hancock. Even if he didn't feel quite the same for her as she did for him, he was nothing if not honorable. He still had a sense of morality, and an inherent compassion for the oppressed. Simply allowing the Gunners to murder her wasn't his style, she surmised. He had to come for her, sooner or later. He just had to. _If he can figure out where I am..._

 

Winlock went from kneeling before her back to standing upright. It looked like he was going to leave again. _I need that god damn bobby pin..._

 

“You're just jealous 'cause a ghoul can get me into bed without having to tie me up, first.” It was the first snappy thing that came to her mind. And the way he glared at her, crouching back down to her level, she immediately regretted saying it.

 

Winlcok flipped the knife into his right hand and held the blade against her neck. She gasped, feeling the icy sharpness on her throat. He leaned in close, his face only a few inches from hers. She could feel the heat of his acrid breath pulsing against her mouth. “The fuck you just say?” he said, the words hardly a rumble in his chest.

 

Scarlet's eyes darted down. His foot was close enough to reach, the bobby pin hanging tantalizingly from the laces. If she reached for it now, he'd notice it. Her eyes went back to his, and she shuddered under his penetrating stare.

 

“Y-you heard me,” she stammered. There was no concealing the waver in her voice.

 

Winlock grinned, sensing her fear. “You better watch your tone, little girl.” He exerted even more pressure on the knife, and Scarlet pressed her head back against the wall.

 

She knew he was liable to hit her, or worse, if she goaded him further. She quickly weighed the options in her head. Sure, he might hurt her, but he'd be a fool to kill her. She was their only leverage in bartering with the mayor of Goodneighbor. If he disposed of her now, the only bargaining chip they had would be gone. A chance at slipping the bobby pin from his shoelace was worth whatever pain he might inflict.

 

“Or what?” she hissed. Overriding her instincts, she pushed back against the knife and glowered at him defiantly.

 

Winlock unknitted his brows and sheathed his knife. He stood up and turned his back to Scarlet, who had rolled to her knees. She clutched the radiator with her cuffed hand, waiting for his response.

 

Then he rolled his shoulders once. Twice. Cracked his neck. Pounded his right fist into his left hand. And then, unleashing his anger, whirled around and punched Scarlet in the jaw.

 

She immediately ran her tongue over her teeth, ensuring none were missing. The force had knocked the glasses clean off her face and they slid across the floor, landing under the shop's checkout counter.

 

Before she could do anything else, Winlock grabbed her by the ankles and jerked. Her head smacked against the concrete floor and her vision blurred momentarily as she was laid out flat on her back, her right hand dangling against the steel handcuff.

 

He dropped to his knees and flipped her over onto her stomach. While she was still reeling from hitting her head, he reached down and unzipped his pants, pulling out his semi-hard cock.

 

Scarlet could see what he was doing out of the corner of her eye. She knew she didn't possess the strength to overtake him. Fighting back would be a waste of energy. Clenching her fists against the floor, she gritted her teeth and bore down, readying herself.

 

Winlock grabbed her by both hips and pulled until she was on her knees, her face and chest still stuck to the ground. He pulled down the back of her pants, exposing her full bottom. The sight fed his growing erection as he stroked it, grinning as he lined it up with her entrance.

 

Unceremoniously, he pushed himself into her. She was dry and resistant, making it difficult for Winlock to force his entire length in. He leaned forward and pushed a long, sticky stream of saliva from his lips, watching it land at the base of his cock. That combined with the steady seepage of precum was enough to lubricate her, and he thrust himself in and out with abandon.

 

Scarlet winced when she felt his penetration, but bit her lip to avoid making any sound. She almost surprised herself at her own acceptance, but she had known something like this was possible, if not probable. There seemed to be very few women among them, and along with a blood-for-caps lifestyle, the end result was hardly surprising.

 

She went limp, forcing him to hold the weight of her pelvis while he continued pounding her mercilessly. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of resisting his invasion.

 

As Winlock grunted in time with his thrusts, Scarlet rotated her face against the floor so that she could see the position of his feet. He was still on his knees, the bobby pin concealed. She contemplated her next move; it wasn't as if she could ask him to change positions. And with her left hand still chained up, it wasn't like she had much choice herself.

 

“Is it in yet?” she asked with as much sarcasm as she could come up with.

 

Winlock forced out a wrathful growl, then grabbed her by the ponytail. He yanked her back until her torso was off the floor and arched against the wall. Scarlet tried to wedge a foot in between his knees as he continued his assault, and he responded by lifting up his right leg and grinding his foot into the floor, pushing into her with even greater force.

 

He was right where she wanted him, now. The bobby pin was clearly visible and bounced off the tongue of his boots with every thrust. Scarlet let out a pitiful cry, then collapsed onto the floor. Winlock, rather pleased with himself, let go of her hair and let her fall. With her left palm and cheek against the concrete, Scarlet reached underneath her body with her right hand, inching toward the bobby pin.

 

His thrusts began to quicken and she could tell he was close. Scarlet raised herself up once more, this time spreading her legs wide, and let her right hand bounce limp against his shin. With every bounce, she felt for the pin, raising her arm ever so slightly until her index finger pressed against its tip.

 

She pushed on it in time with his thrusts, hoping he wouldn't feel it coming loose. Right before it could slip from his shoelace she backed up against him, meeting the force of his cock ramming into her. Winlock grunted his release and dug his nails into her hips. The distraction was enough for Scarlet to catch the bobby pin and slip it covertly into her bra.

 

He slowed and finally stopped, his grip relaxing. Scarlet put her head down against the floor and whimpered, hamming it up for him.

 

“You're a freak,” he said, his voice dripping with disgust. He pulled his softening cock from her and stuffed it back into his pants before zipping them back up. Panting from the effort, he stood up and turned his back, this time leaving her there, her bare ass still pointing upwards.

 

Scarlet rolled over and sat upright, resuming the fetal position against the wall. She tried to cry. She thought it would have been easy to shed a few tears after the assault. But as she bore down, forcing Winlock's spent fluids from between her legs, she had to suppress a smile.

 

_I got it._


	12. H-A-Y

Hancock was slumped over the bar, drinking rum straight from the bottle. There were five empty jet inhalers next to him. He rested his jaw in his chin, trying to keep his head up as he put the bottle to his lips. It had been a long time since he'd been this fucked up, and he was so far gone at this point that he didn't have the wherewithal to stop himself.

 

He and MacCready had tossed back a few drinks together before the mercenary decided his nerves were steady enough to rest. “I'm gonna sleep for a few hours. Make sure you do the same.”

 

“Just one more,” Hancock had said. Then one had turned into two, two into four, then hit after hit of jet, until he was all but indisposed.

 

“It's all my fault,” slurred Hancock, as Charlie hovered over to pick up the chem containers.

 

“You can't beat yourself up about it,” Charlie said. The early morning hours were upon them and the crowd at the bar was thinning out. Magnolia had stopped performing a while ago, and the place had adopted a peaceful kind of hum.

 

“I shouldn't have let her get too close,” Hancock moaned, placing his forehead against his wrist and resting against the bar. “Fucking Gunners. Fucking MacCready. Fuck.”

 

“Didn't you send someone out to spy on them?” Charlie asked as he dragged a towel along the bar.

 

“They ain't sayin' anything,” was his despondent reply. “Covering their asses.”

 

“Well you can't blame 'em.” The robot wrung his towel over the sink with his claw-like hands, then resumed his task.

 

“I should just run up on 'em, take the fuckers out.” Hancock raised his head to take another swig, then put his forehead back down.

 

“That's probably not a smart thing to do.”

 

“You're right,” he said with a groan. “But what the fuck else am I supposed to do?”

 

“Well you should probably be nabbin' a few winks,” Charlie scolded.

 

Hancock had intended to get some rest. His initial idea to recharge had been a rational one. But Hancock was anything but rational right now. His grief engulfed him absolutely. He was paralyzed by his own helplessness, and he lamented the thought of closing his eyes and falling asleep while Scarlet was still being held captive. It wasn't fair. Why should he rest, cozy against his mattress, when she was probably tied up and struggling to nod off in a folding chair?

 

He missed her. He felt incomplete with her gone. He needed his fix of her, needed to taste her, needed to feel the softness of her skin, the gentle caress of her breath on his neck. He found his own immobility unbearable to the point of complete despair, and he mumbled curses at himself under his breath. If only he could go back to the beginning, when she first showed up on his doorstep. He would have taken her to the hotel instead of letting her bunk with him, in the State House. He would have asked Fahrenheit, or Daisy, or anyone else to help her. He wouldn't have let himself get so close.

 

But there was nothing for it. There was no changing the course of events that had led them to this point. And all Hancock could do was wallow in self-pity, hoping he could get stoned enough to escape his own thoughts.

 

Hancock reached into his pocket and ran his hand along the holotape. He wanted to hear Scarlet's voice again. No matter how horrible the circumstances of the recording, it was still her, proof that she was alive somewhere. It was all he was holding onto.

 

“Hey Charlie,” he said, holding the tape up to the robot. “Can you play this for me?” His eyes were nothing but slits as he made his request.

 

“Yeah, sure.” Charlie grabbed the tape in a pincer grasp and tucked it into the deck at the bottom of his spherical body. He stood in front of Hancock while it played, busying himself by wiping out a few glasses.

 

_“..._ _Tell him you're okay little girl.”_

 

_“I'm – I'm -”_

 

_“Quit cryin' and say something.”_

 

_“I'm alright Hancock...”_

 

_She's alright,_ he told himself, repeating it like a mantra. _She's alright._

 

The tape ran itself into silence. The sound of her sobs was excruciating, but he forced himself to listen to it. He wouldn't allow himself the luxury of ignoring it.

 

“Play it again, Charlie,” he said.

 

Charlie looked like he was about to protest, but compliantly rewound the tape and began it over again. Hancock sighed heavily, attempting to take a sip of rum while resting his face against the bar.

 

The tape stopped again. Just as he was about to request Charlie replay it, the robot spoke, murmuring to himself as he mopped up the spill next to Hancock's lips. “Zero one zero zero one zero zero zero zero, zero one zero zero zero zero zero one, zero one zero one one zero zero one.”

 

Hancock raised his head, attempting to keep it from swaying too much on the end of his neck. “What the fuck are you talking about, you god damn robot?” He didn't like it when people weren't talking straight with him, and he wasn't sober enough to conceal his annoyance.

 

“I haven't seen binary for almost two centuries, let alone heard it out loud.” He sounded surprised, but kept puttering around the bar like normal.

 

“Where'd you hear that?” he slurred.

 

“If I'm not mistaken, and I'm usually not, the young lady's breathing pattern was intentional. Each inhale is a zero, each exhale is a one.”

 

Hancock's heart nearly stopped in his chest. Was it possible she was transmitting a message to him? He would be lying if he truly believed she would be coherent enough to do something like that while being forced to speak at the hands of her kidnappers. But maybe he was underestimating her. It wasn't a completely far-fetched notion.

 

“What's it say?” he asked, a touch of incredulity in his voice.

 

“It spells H-A-Y.”

 

“H...A...Y...” Hancock attempted to shake the cobwebs from between his ears. “Are you sure?”

 

“Well the inverse would be something like 'point three fourths', which doesn't make a whole lotta sense.” Charlie paused, as if reconsidering his own assessment. “'Hay' doesn't make a whole lotta sense, either. Maybe I'm just hearin' things.”

 

“Haymarket mall...” he said to himself. The ghoul rose from his barstool, stumbling a little as he found his footing. “Play the tape again, Charlie,” he said, his voice suddenly full of vigor.

 

He listened as Charlie rewound the tape once again, then let it play. Hancock almost fell over at the realization. Her breathing wasn't erratic. It was purposeful, mindful, each inhale and exhale stressed to the highest degree possible. There was no way it was a coincidence.

 

“Thank god!” Hancock yelled in triumph, throwing his half-empty rum bottle against the floor.

 

“Was that really necessary?” grumbled charlie, hovering over to the mess.

 

“You're brilliant, Charlie!” Hancock turned on his heel and nearly ran to the VIP room. He knew where she was. He had to tell MacCready.

 

The mercenary was passed out on the couch, a limp arm dangling over the side as he lay on his back. He awoke with a start at Hancock's entrance, grasping instinctively for his gun. “The fuck?!” His sleep-addled brain struggled to process what was happening as Hancock approached him.

 

“I know where she is!” he said, grabbing MacCready by the arm.

 

“Hold on, Hancock, what the hell are you talking about?” MacCready rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up. The wild look in the mayor's eye was obvious. _Has he gone completely insane?_

 

“She's at Haymarket Mall. We gotta get out there, now,” he said urgently.

 

“Just, just stop for a second!” MacCready put his hands up, ushering Hancock to calm down. But the ghoul kept pacing back and forth, hardly listening to him.

 

“There's a message in the tape. Binary. She put it there on purpose.”

 

Hancock's eyes were glazed over and he was slurring his words. MacCready assumed he was stoned, and rolled his eyes. “You haven't gone to bed yet, have you?”

 

“I'm tellin' ya, ask Charlie!”

 

“Now just hang on a second!” MacCready took Hancock by the shoulders and pulled him to a stop. “What's going on? You have too much jet?”

 

“I'm sober as a fuckin' priest,” Hancock insisted, though by the smell and sight of him MacCready knew it wasn't true. “I had Charlie play the tape. He found a pattern in there. It spelled H-A-Y. It's gotta be Haymarket Mall.”

 

MacCready sighed, relaxing his grip. It sounded like a plausible enough theory. He knew Haymarket was a regular hideout for the Gunners. Maybe it wasn't just the product of a jet hallucination. “Are you sure?”

 

“Positive.” As he said it, he temporarily lost his balance, holding his hands out to steady himself as he replanted his feet.

 

“That may be, but how are you gonna take down an army of Gunners when you can't even stand up straight?”

 

Hancock covered his eyes with his hand, as if trying to wipe away the inebriation. But he had been fucked up often enough to know what fucked up felt like. There was too much at stake for him to pretend like he was fine.

 

“You need to sleep for at least a few hours,” said MacCready, getting no response from Hancock. “Take some med-ex, do what you gotta do, but you're useless right now.”

 

Hancock nodded reluctantly. “Yeah... gotta lie down.”

 

MacCready guided the ghoul to the couch where he had been sleeping. Feeling the back of his legs hit something soft, Hancock slumped down and fell over, burying his face in the pillow.

 

“I'm gonna get a crew together, get ready for an assault. I'll come get you when we're ready to leave.”

 

“Don't fuck this up, Mac,” Hancock mumbled. His eyes were closed and his mouth was hanging open, on the verge of drifting off.

 

“Ain't likely,” he said. He watched Hancock for a moment, making sure he wasn't going to get up. He hoped for the young woman's sake that Hancock was right about where she was. It was almost morning, and time was working against them. He could only trust that the Gunners would keep their word and hold off taking any action until their 24 hours had expired. With any luck, they could put an end to this nightmare once and for all.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Scarlet awoke with a start. She was supine on the floor, her face resting against her arm. She had been in such a deep sleep a small puddle of drool had collected beneath her mouth.

 

_Fuck..._ she hadn't meant to fall asleep. She wanted to wait and see what the Gunners did. Maybe they would all nod off and she would have an opportunity to unlock her handcuffs.

 

But she hadn't stayed awake long enough to get the chance. She could tell by the light filtering through the window that the day was getting on. She cursed at herself silently, watching with bitter eyes as the Gunners talked and laughed outside the shop.

 

She felt a surge of wetness between her thighs and remembered what had happened the night before. She had attempted to push his seed out, fearful that it might result in an unintended pregnancy. But it apparently wasn't all gone, and she cringed at the feeling. She was nervous about the possibilities, but she knew rationally that nothing was likely to happen. She had only stopped breastfeeding in the past couple weeks, and hadn't gotten a period since... since before she was pregnant with Shaun. Her fertility at this moment was highly improbable.

 

Her stomach rumbled again. Aside from the single bite of mole rat the previous evening, she hadn't eaten in two days. It wasn't a feeling she was used to, and she doubled over, clutching her stomach. It felt like it was digesting itself.

 

“So I guess you _did_ feel my cock in you, then?” Winlock entered the shop, a smug grin plastered on his face.

 

As hungry as she was, Scarlet felt the nausea rising in her throat at the sight of him. She wasn't going to snap back at him as she had previously. After all, she'd gotten what she wanted, and she took a deep breath, trying without using her hands to feel the bobby pin against her breast.

 

“I'm hungry,” she said flatly. If an escape attempt was in her future, she would do well to store up some energy. If she had to beg the Gunners for food, so be it.

 

“I'll be right back,” he said. He left momentarily and returned with chipped plastic bowl. He threw it down in front of her, some of its contents sloshing over the side.

 

Scarlet examined it for a moment. It looked like some kind of gruel. _Good enough_. She picked up the bowl and tipped it into her mouth, slurping down the tasteless sludge.

 

“You know if I don't get MacCready before sundown, I'm gonna have to kill you,” he said. He squatted, then sat down in front of her, removing a modified pipe pistol from his holster.

 

“Oh yeah?” she asked into the rim of the bowl. The thought genuinely terrified her, but she kept choking down the slop and tried not to let it show.

 

“It's sad, really. I'd hate to kill such a pretty little thing.”

 

Scarlet quickly finished the bowl and set it down, urping a little as she did. Winlock was sitting close enough that she could see every detail on his face, but everything behind him was a frustrating blur. “Would you get me my glasses, please?” she asked, pointing to the checkout counter where they had landed after last night.

 

Winlock scoffed. “Now it's Miss Manners, is it?” He walked over to the counter and bent down to retrieve them. After picking them up, he blew the dust from the surface and wiped them a couple times against his jacket. “Here you are, mi'lady,” he said acerbically, setting them on her face.

 

She nodded to the pip-boy on his wrist as he settled back in. “Do you even know how to use that thing?” she asked, somewhat patronizingly.

 

“I'm figuring it out,” he replied. “I don't need your help little miss smarty pants.”

 

“Then you found out how to play Pipfall, then.”

 

Winlock eyed her dubiously. “What the hell is Pipfall?”

 

“It's a game,” she said. “Most of the Pip-Boy's have it pre-installed.”

 

His eyebrows arched; his curiosity was more than evident. “How do I play it?” he asked, holding the Pip-Boy up to his face.

 

“It's not like you could beat my high score, anyway,” she said haughtily.

 

“Just tell me where it is,” he barked, turning the dials with frustration.

 

“Here,” she said, gesturing him to bring his arm over.

 

The mercenary hesitated. He wasn't sure if she was trying to pull one over on him. He really didn't know anything about the damn computer on his wrist, and this vault girl seemed to be pretty tech savvy. Maybe she would help him, or maybe she would try to sabotage it somehow.

 

His demeanor somewhat cagey, he finally extended his arm. Scarlet almost laughed at his reluctance. _Is he scared?_ she thought. She pushed a couple buttons and turned the main dial, verbally instructing him as she did. When she was finished, Winlock pulled the Pip-Boy back up, the bright green light bathing his face.

 

“Like I said, you're not gonna be able to beat my high score,” she boasted, leaning back against the wall. “I'm like, a master at this game.”

 

“Shut up,” he muttered. He had started playing it, and the Pip-Boy was chirping along with the action on the screen.

 

“You only have five minutes to get all the bobbleheads-” she began.

 

“-I can figure it out!” He stood up and started walking away, his neck craned over the screen on his wrist.

 

Scarlet smiled. If that game was as addictive as she remembered, he'd be playing it for a while. It wasn't much, but having Winlock distracted could only benefit her situation.

 

“Hey boss!” Barnes nearly collided with Winlock, who for his part hadn't bothered looking up.

 

“What'dya want, Barnes?” he asked, irritated.

 

“We spotted a super mutant. Bastard's out there with a sledgehammer, checkin' us out.”

 

“What the fuck do I care?”

 

“If there's one, there's probably at least ten more with him. Probably hiding out.”

 

“Well then take a few men and go get them,” Winlock grumbled. “You act like you never seen a super mutant before.”

 

“Yeah well this one's a little different,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “He's pretty talkative for a mutie. Keeps screamin' something about milk.”

 

Scarlet's ears pricked up and her heart nearly burst out of her chest. _Strong_. They had come for her.

 

“So? Kill the mother fucker,” Winlock insisted, attempting to go back to playing Pipfall.

 

“Alright, boss.” Barnes motioned for a few of the Gunners in the hall to follow him. They grabbed their gear and filed out hastily, leaving Winlock and two other guards behind.

 

Winlock sat on a leather loveseat outside the shop window, his back to Scarlet, swearing and occasionally slapping the Pip-Boy on his arm.

 

After a few short minutes, she could hear the faint echoes of gunfire crackling outside. Neither of the guards nor Winlock batted an eye, and continued behaving as if nothing was happening. Scarlet hoped that Strong was able to hold off whatever they were throwing against him. He may have been a hulk, but he could die like anyone else. If he really was there as part of a rescue party, he'd better have some backup.

 

Just then a deafening ripple of thunder pierced the air, drowning out all the gunshots that had come before it. It was far off, but Scarlet was almost certain it was the sound of MacCready's sniper rifle.

 

The noise even made the Gunners look up. They probably recognized the sound for what it was, and all three of them rushed to the windows, peering through the slats.

 

“I didn't know muties had snipers,” said one of the guards, his fingertips hooked over one of the wooden boards.

 

“I'm gonna go see what's goin' on,” said Winlock. He grabbed his pistol and a couple grenades out of the steamer trunk before casting a sidelong glance at Scarlet. She sat up on her knees, attentive but otherwise silent. “You two keep an eye on her. Don't let her out of your sight.”

 

“You got it,” one of the men answered.

 

As Winlock made his exit the two remaining guards turned and looked at her, but still hovered near the window.

 

“She's not goin' anywhere,” said one Gunner. The other nodded his head in agreement and they went back to watching the action outside.

 

Scarlet seized her chance. She reached her left hand into her bra and pulled out the bobby pin she had pilfered from Winlock. Her shaky hands fumbled to straighten it out as she inserted it into the handcuff's lock, trying to stay as silent as possible.

 

She bent the end and made a makeshift key, then began poking around the lock's inner mechanisms. She wasn't very dexterous with her left hand and her sweaty palms made it nearly impossible to grip the sliver of metal. But after just a few seconds she heard a satisfying click, and all it took was a gentle pull to release the cuff from her wrist.

 

She was almost holding her breath now. If one of the Gunners turned around at this stage, she would be dead for certain. But they were still raptly staring out the windows, commenting every now and again about what they saw.

 

The steamer trunk that held her laser pistol was tantalizingly close. She crept toward it on her hands and knees, trying to keep her weight evenly distributed lest the floorboards creak beneath her. Beads of perspiration gathered over her brow, and she paused briefly to wipe them away before continuing.

 

Inch by inch she crawled to the trunk. The Gunners were so close that she was sure they could hear her if she blinked too hard. Once she was within arm's reach, she summoned every ounce of will in her body to remain steady as she slowly flipped up the lock. Then, pushing up the lid until it was just high enough to allow her small hand entry, she reached in, grasping for her pistol.

 

“What the-?”

 

Scarlet reeled backwards just as she had taken hold of the pistol's grip. Before either of them had time to react, she raised the barrel and squeezed the trigger.

 

Once. Twice.

 

The mercenaries dropped to the floor face down, the exit wounds on the backs of their heads steaming from the heat of the laser.

 

Scarlet felt like she could finally breathe again. She gasped like a fish out of water, desperate to fill her lungs with precious oxygen, as she processed what had just happened. The pistol in her hands was still pointed firmly at where the mercs had been standing. Only after convincing herself at length that they were actually dead did she lower it, then rolled onto her feet.

 

She gathered what she could from the trunk and the two dead Gunners. Hastily, she undid the ties of one of the men's combat vests. She wasn't sure if she had time to completely armor herself up, but she figured the weighty chest piece would be sufficient protection for her escape.

 

After securing it to herself the best she could, Scarlet turned, taking one last look at the old clothing store where she had spent the past few days. Then, wrapping both hands securely around her pistol, she ran toward the glowing exit sign.

 

* * *

 

 

 

“How many?” asked Hancock, puffing away on a cigarette. He leaned against the frame of an old automobile, watching MacCready looking through his scope. They were at the apex of a highway overpass that ran just askance of Haymarket Mall. The mall was comprised of two buildings, one of which rose fourteen stories high, and the shorter of the two was crowned with a rooftop garden.

 

“Five.... six... seven...” MacCready counted aloud. There were several Gunners patrolling the rooftops and a cluster of them guarding the bottom, around which they had set up a makeshift wall. He didn't bother double-checking but was sure they had mines set up around the perimeter as well. “Eleven in all,” he said, pulling his face away from his rifle and turning to Hancock.

 

“How many do you think you can pick off before they get wise?” he asked the sniper.

 

“I dunno. Three, maybe four before they start shooting back.”

 

“Strong'll keep 'em busy,” said the ghoul, attempting to be reassuring.

 

“We should have brought Fahrenheit...” MacCready grumbled. After Hancock had passed out, MacCready recruited Fahrenheit to join them in their rescue. He had considered asking a couple more hired guns to join them, but he wanted to keep the operation small and unexpected. They wouldn't be able to take the Gunners by surprise if the rolled in with an army.

 

But once Hancock had woken up and MacCready announced his plan, the mayor insisted that Fahrenheit stay behind to protect Goodneighbor. “We'll take Strong with us,” he had said. “If she's injured, we're gonna need his help bringing her back.”

 

MacCready wasn't sure about the strange super mutant joining their party, but he agreed. This was Hancock's show, after all, and he wasn't about to piss him off by trying to call the shots. He frowned a little, thinking about the passwords Hancock held in his breast pocket. _I'd better get them back, or_ _I'll start my own war with Goodneighbor._

 

Strong was several stories below, ready to take on the Gunners at ground level as soon as Hancock decided to give the signal. He could take a barrage of bullets and keep going long enough to get in close with his sledgehammer, allowing MacCready to work in a few well-placed shots.

 

Hancock would have to rely on their cover. There was a narrow ramp leading from the overpass to the rooftop garden. He planned to infiltrate Haymarket, clearing the Gunners from the inside, while he looked for Scarlet. As the sun reached its zenith and began its slow descent to the horizon, Hancock hoped they had arrived in time. MacCready had assured him that the Gunners were pretty reliable when it came to keeping their word, but Hancock wasn't so sure. He had to convince himself the entire way there that she was still alive, even though a nagging voice in the back of his mind insisted that all hope was lost.

 

“You ready?” Hancock asked, eager to move.

 

“Ready as I'll ever be,” said MacCready.

 

“Just make sure you give Strong enough time to do his thing before you start shootin'.” Hancock crouched down and pulled out his shotgun, sneaking away from the sniper and across the overpass. He paused halfway to the mall, giving a low whistle to the super mutant below before continuing.

 

“Strong smash!” he shouted in response. The ground shook beneath his heavy footsteps as he approached the Gunner's barrier. “Strong find the milk of human kindness, soon,” he said, waving his sledgehammer in the air.

 

MacCready rolled his eyes as he watched the beast lumbering toward the building. The Gunners had spotted him and drew their weapons, but had yet to fire.

 

Hancock was almost to the ramp leading down to the Haymarket rooftop. The ghoul paused. He would wait until the Gunners' attention was sufficiently occupied before making his entrance.

 

“Puny humans!” Strong yelled, beginning to close the distance between himself and the mercenaries. “Now is the time for fighting!”

 

The Gunners outside the mall began firing at the super mutant, who seemed not to notice the bullets grazing his flesh as he barreled toward them. Once he was close enough to start cracking skulls with his sledgehammer, MacCready lined up his first shot. He started at the very top of the tallest building, taking out the guard who was busy watching the action below. Quickly he moved onto the next targets, the men staking out the rooftop garden where Hancock planned on breaking in. There were three of them, and they were running around, looking down their sights for the sniper rifle's origin.

 

MacCready held his breath as he followed one of the target's heads. As soon as the Gunner paused, MacCready let out his breath and squeezed the trigger, hitting his mark dead on. The remaining two were now looking right in his direction, having ascertained his general location. He didn't bother trying for a head shot this time and instead directed his aim at the men's chests, hoping he could fire fast enough to incapacitate them.

 

He saw Hancock rustling out of the corner of his eye, jumping deftly onto the ramp and heading down to the rooftop, gun in hand. MacCready took his shots somewhat hastily, but managed to hit them both. One was completely grounded and the other grabbed his leg. The injured man didn't even see the ghoul rushing toward him as he dropped his weapon, screaming in pain. Hancock sprinted toward him, using every bit of his momentum as he smashed his elbow into the Gunner's face. The mercenary fell, and Hancock pulled out his knife and slit his throat, wanting to keep his entrance covert.

 

As Hancock disappeared into the building, MacCready pointed his scope down and focused on covering strong, who had dispatched of several Gunners on his own. They were too busy with the mutant to notice the sniper above them, and MacCready released shot after shot into their heads, until the threat outside the building had completely abated.

 

Hancock snuck his way onto the sixth floor. He wasn't met with any resistance as he made his way through the halls, peeking his head around every corner. When he got to the stairwell he stopped, wondering if he should try going up or down. But he was interrupted by gunfire coming from below. He took cover behind the door frame and waited for the shots to die down. But the Gunner fired a bevvy of automatic rounds at the ghoul, shredding the wall like tissue paper.

 

Hancock ducked as low as he could and reached for a grenade in his pocket. He was about to pull the pin when he heard the high-pitched whine of a laser pistol, followed by a heavy thud as his attacker hit the floor.

 

_Was it really..._

 

“Scarlet!” he shouted.

 

“John!”

 

She was two stories above him and rushed down the steps, grinning madly as she saw him stepping out into the stairwell.

 

She nearly knocked him over as she crashed into him, her arms tightening around his neck. Hancock caught her in his arms and spun her around, momentarily disregarding the danger they were in.

 

He grabbed her by the base of the skull and pulled her into fiery kiss. His hands roamed over her body, simultaneously enjoying the feeling of her while checking for injuries.

 

Scarlet broke away from him and looked into his eyes, in denial that he was really there in front of her. “You came for me!” she said reverently, then leaned back into him, burying her head in his shoulder.

 

“Anything for you, Sunshine,” he said. He stroked the back of her head as he held her, not wanting to let her go.

 

But their reunion was short-lived and they were interrupted by more gunshots, this time a few stories below them. Hancock pushed Scarlet back and stepped in front of her protectively, cocking his shotgun. The two of them began making their way down the steps and she followed him closely, keeping her pistol ready and her eyes sharp.

 

As they approached the third floor, the gunshots were getting louder. Hancock peeked his head around the corner, assessing the threat. There were two Gunners standing at the windows, aiming their hunting rifles at a distant target.

 

Without warning, Hancock spun around the corner and blasted off a round, hitting one of the Gunners in the side of his ribcage. As the man dropped he took aim at the other, firing before he'd had the opportunity to realize what had happened.

 

Scarlet watched the action from behind the door frame, waiting until she saw both men fall before resuming her position at Hancock's back. They could hear strong roaring outside, screaming in a mixture of pain and triumph as he battled the remaining mercenaries. The crack of MacCready's sniper rifle could be heard intermittently, and the sound of the Gunners' weapons were beginning to die out.

 

“Stay back,” said Hancock, motioning to Scarlet. “I thought I heard one more of 'em down here.”

 

No sooner had he spoken those words than a gloved hand poked out of the shop at the end of the hall, holding a pipe pistol and pointing it at Hancock. The man pulled the trigger, narrowly missing them, before withdrawing his hand back into cover.

 

“You're one stubborn ass ghoul!” he yelled.

 

Scarlet and Hancock ducked into the closest room they could, a dilapidated bookstore. They shared a knowing glance at the sound of his voice. It was Winlock.

 

“You don't know the half of it,” Hancock yelled back, stepping out into the hall just enough to get two rounds off in his direction.

 

“You gonna come quietly, or do I have to shut you up myself?” Winlock shouted before taking a couple blind shots. The bullets deflected harmlessly off the steel door frame as Hancock crouched down and reloaded his shotgun.

 

Scarlet crouched next to him, ready to provide backup if he needed it. But while Hancock was busy cramming shells into his gun, Winlock had pulled the pin on a frag grenade and hurled it down the hallway. Scarlet's eyes widened in horror as she watched it roll, landing just outside the door.

 

“Get down!” yelled Scarlet, grabbing Hancock by the arm and pulling him to the floor with her as the grenade exploded.

 

Hancock instinctively covered Scarlet's body with his own, shielding her from the brunt of the blast. Dirt and debris rained over them as the roof over their heads shook and eventually crumbled. Several hardwood panels landed on Hancock's back, nearly pinning the two of them to the floor.

 

The sound left the room spinning and their ears ringing. They coughed as dust filled their lungs. Hancock pressed his hands against the floor and struggled to hoist himself up, attempting to shake off the wooden beams that had fallen on him. He gave Scarlet just enough clearance to wriggle out from under him before collapsing again under the weight.

 

Winlock's footsteps could be heard approaching them. Scarlet looked at Hancock and put a finger to her lips before sliding stealthily behind a bookshelf.

 

Neither of them had made any noise, and Winlock was sure they had succumbed to the explosion. When he finally turned the corner, he saw Hancock's body laying still on the floor, and lowered his pistol.

 

Scarlet took her opportunity and darted out from her hiding place, taking plenty of time to line up the barrel to Winlock's chest before squeezing the trigger. The pipe pistol fell from his hands as he clutched the wound. Then, stumbling backwards a few steps, he dropped to his knees before falling over on his side.

 

Scarlet rushed over to Hancock, who was shifting beneath the mountain of debris on top of him. “Are you okay?!” she shouted over the ringing in her own ears. She began pulling the planks of hardwood from his back one by one, grunting with the effort, until he was able to lift his body off the floor.

 

“I'm fine, doll,” he said, coughing up a cloud of dust. Scarlet pulled him to his feet, looking him over to make sure he wasn't bleeding.

 

They stared in each others eyes briefly, silently expressing their gratitude for one another. But their heads snapped around as they heard a groan of agony coming from the floor.

 

Scarlet stepped over the rubble and walked over to Winlock, standing over him with her pistol drawn. The man was reaching for the pipe pistol he had dropped, but he halted when he saw the weapon being covered by Scarlet's boot. He looked up at her and attempted to crack a sinister smile, but ended up coughing violently, spewing a stream of blood from his lips.

 

Scarlet aimed her laser pistol at his head and, completely remorseless, shot him point blank in between the eyes.

 

Then she fired again, and again, releasing her fury on his fresh corpse until all of the rounds in her pistol had been expended. Her eyes were clouded over, grim and almost expressionless, as she finally lowered her pistol and placed it gently back into her holster.

 

Hancock watched the scene unfold before him. He hadn't expected Scarlet to act out so violently. The look in her eye frightened him, and he shuddered a little as he watched the young woman repeatedly burning hole after hole in the dead man's head.

 

“I think he's dead, Sunshine,” he said carefully.

 

Scarlet turned to Hancock, her eyes full of tears, her lower lip trembling. “Not dead enough,” she said.

 

She stooped over to grab her confiscated Pip-Boy from his arm. But before she put it on her own wrist, she straddled Winlock's corpse and came down on him with all the strength she could muster, smashing the rigid edge of the device into his lifeless face.

 

She repeated this process two more times until Winlock's nose was caved in and blood ran from his forehead, pouring like a river onto the floor. Then she stood up and shrugged her shoulders before strapping the bloody Pip-Boy around her arm.

 

Hancock's heart sank as he realized the probable cause of her anger. His guilt enveloped him like a coffin, burying him with regret. He had managed to save his reputation, his town, his friend, and his beloved Scarlet, but at what cost? She would have to carry what had happened with her for the rest of her life.

 

Scarlet, having released her ire, turned back to Hancock and fell into his arms, sobbing quietly. Haymarket Mall, both inside and out, was silent. The last of the Gunners had been killed, and Strong was yelling victoriously.

 

“John...” she whispered, her voice like a ghost against his chest. “Can you take me home?”


	13. R.J.

Scarlet stretched as she opened her eyes. She was in John's bed, right where she belonged. She smiled and hugged his pillow, elated to finally be there again. Swinging her feet onto the floor, she reached for her glasses and slid them on, grinning at the thought of seeing his face.

 

She was still wearing her pants, she noticed. They had been so tired last night that they didn't even bother getting completely undressed. They held each other close and fell asleep, clinging to each other for dear life. For her part, Scarlet never wanted to leave his side again. _I'll stay in his bed all day if I have to_ , she thought, a devilish smirk playing on her lips as she stood up.

 

She went to the bathroom and, seeking out John, walked into the parlor. He was sitting on the couch, feet on the coffee table, smoking a cigarette and clutching a jet inhaler in his hand.

 

“Good morning,” she said, sashaying over to him and bending down to his lips.

 

Hancock placed a firm hand against her shoulder, blocking access to his mouth. “We need to talk,” he said. Scarlet stepped back, bewildered by his strange demeanor. He seemed on edge. He was drumming his fingers on the armrest; she didn't think she'd seen him fidget like that before. And he usually didn't do jet this early in the day. Something was wrong.

 

“What is it, John?” she asked, taking a seat across from him. Her eyes were wide with concern as she placed her hands on her knees. The suddenness of his mood set her heart fluttering with panic. And his tone didn't have the soft edge he usually reserved for her.

 

Hancock took a drag of his cigarette before speaking, looking off into the distance. “I think it's time we parted ways, doll.”

 

Scarlet's stomach twisted into itself and she swallowed thickly. _What did he just say?_

 

“What do you mean?” she asked nervously, her fingertips pressing against her knees, her knuckles turning white. _Parted ways? Permanently?_ She wasn't sure what to make of what he said. Had he decided that she no longer needed his help and had to leave Goodneighbor? Was he angry that she had fallen for Bobbi's trap and got herself captured? Hancock sensed her confusion. But he stayed firm, resolute, attempting to make his intentions clear.

 

“I mean you and me,” he said, still avoiding eye contact, “whatever we got goin' on, it's over.”

 

Scarlet blinked her eyes in disbelief. This was something she never thought she would hear, and she scarcely believed her own ears. _Is he... is he breaking up with me?_

 

Not that they had officially been together. They hadn't actually discussed the parameters of their relationship. Still, everything had been going smoothly. They hadn't fought, hadn't said a single unkind thing to one another, hadn't...

 

They hadn't said anything. He had never told her if he loved her, or felt any other connection with her beyond their physical intimacy. Though she knew she was in love with him, she hadn't dared to tell him, for fear that something like this might happen.

 

But there had to be something behind what he was saying. There must have been something she had done to provoke this. Even at their relationship's most basic level, they had been having fun. At least she thought they had.

 

Did he regret telling her about his past? Was he uncomfortable that she knew too much about him? Did she say something to offend him somehow?

 

“Is there... a reason?” she asked, fighting back tears, a thousand questions cycling through her brain. If he was going to end things with her, she deserved to know why.

 

“It's nothing personal,” he answered coolly. “I'm just not a one woman kind of guy, ya know?” He placed his feet on the floor and stood up, snuffing out his cigarette. “I can't be tied down.”

 

Scarlet was flabbergasted. Of course she knew he had to have some kind of history. A lewd history, full of one night stands, orgies, and god knows what else. But surely she was in a different category. He never gave off the vibe that she was temporary, or just another notch in his bedpost.

 

But this wasn't a reason. Maybe one of many, but it couldn't be _the_ reason. Maybe he had met someone in their days apart. That had to be it.

 

“You got someone new?” she asked, trying not to let her anger show. _He wouldn't just fool around with someone else while I was kidnapped. Would he?_

 

It suddenly occurred to her that she didn't know what he was capable of. This scenario might have been commonplace for him. She still was having trouble navigating her way socially in this post-war era. Maybe all relationships were like this. Wild and brief, with no attachments. Knowing you could die at any minute for a catalog of reasons was motivation enough to avoid settling down.

 

“I always got someone on the back burner,” he stated matter-of-factly.

 

Jealousy burned in her breast. It was true. She was just another one of his girls. Someone to fool around with when he got high. Someone who would suck his irradiated...

 

“Like I said, don't take it personal,” he went on. “You and me had fun, but you know it wasn't gonna last forever.”

 

_I never knew he felt this way._ Her fury began to ebb and she drowned under a wave of embarrassment. She must have misread him. She thought she could read people. She thought she could trust him. Ever since she had woken up to this world, he had taken her under his wing. He had watched out for her. He had stood up for her. He had saved her, more than once. He had bought her gifts, looked after her when she was injured, held her close as she wept.

 

Then, she thought back to their first meeting, to some of the first words she had ever heard him speak. _“Anyone steps through this gate for the first time, they're a guest,”_ he had said.

 

Anyone who came through.

 

_“I don't care if you're a_ _synth, ghoul, or even a super mutant, so long as you play nice.”_

 

She was just another helpless stranger that he could take care of. Between one drifter and the next, it didn't make any difference to him. She wasn't the first clueless woman to wander into Goodneighbor, and she wouldn't be the last.

 

She stumbled over her own thoughts, struggling to come to terms with the reality before her. She was always good at coping with hard truths. She could push them aside easily, think about them another day. There was always something productive she could be doing. But her heart was breaking, crying out to beg, or barter, or do anything to stop the pain. This was complete madness. There was no logic in it, no rational thought. She couldn't boil it down to its black and white components, pick it apart, analyze it, or otherwise rephrase it in a way that would make sense to her.

 

Her mind and her heart were being pitted against each other. And like everything else in her life, she was determined for her mind to win the battle. This was just another bump in the road. _Focus on the horizon_ , she told herself. _Don't think about where you've been. Think about where to go from here._

 

“So...” she began, her voice breaking. “Where am I supposed to go?”

 

“You can stay at the Rexford before you head off to Diamond City,” he said, his back to her as he fished through his liquor cabinet. “I'll give you some caps if you need 'em.”

 

“No, that's alright. I can pay for myself.” Try as she might, she couldn't conceal the quiver in her voice. But she was determined not to cry, hell-bent on avoiding shedding a single tear. _I won't give him the satisfaction_. _I'm not just gonna lay down and die without him_.

 

“Alright then. I packed up your stuff. It's in your room,” he said. He pulled the cork from a rum bottle and put it to his lips, raising it up to let gravity funnel it down his throat.

 

Scarlet stood up, her fists clenched at her sides. He was throwing her out in the street, like trash. She loathed him for what he was doing. How could he cast her aside so easily? If this was how he treated people, like subhuman filth, then he really was the monster he imagined himself to be. _No wonder he burned his face off. He deserves to look like shit. He_ is _shit._

 

She was seething now, a ball of rage ready to burst from her at any moment. She stormed off to her room, grabbing the pack that was sitting on her bed. She came back out to the parlor, Hancock watching her calmly as she ripped her way through it and checked for her belongings.

 

“Everything's there,” he said.

 

“Where's my Silver Shroud comic?” she asked through her teeth. A hot tear burned its way down her face and she wiped it away quickly with a trembling hand.

 

“It's not your comic, it's Kent's. I gave it back to him. If you want it, you'll have to ask him yourself.”

 

She looked through the bag's contents once more, then threw it over her shoulder. She should have left then, she thought, looking back on it later. The asshole had made up his mind. But a part of her wanted to cry out to him, a part of her she couldn't manage to suppress. Her irrational mind, rearing its ugly head and shattering her perfect world. Life would be so much easier without it. She wouldn't say things she knew were useless. She wouldn't have prostrated herself before him like she was just another one of his adoring subjects.

 

She hesitated before she left, completely against her better judgment. But she had to ask. “Are you sure about this, John?” it was half-pleading, half-threatening. He couldn't mean it. Couldn't really do this to her...

 

“You gotta stop with the first name shit,” he said. “It's Hancock. Don't want people to get the wrong idea.”

 

Every muscle in her body cried out to leap into his arms. She wanted to throw herself at his mercy, to shower him with kisses, to bargain with this man for her very life. She couldn't rationalize away this feeling. She had admitted it to herself a while ago.

 

Scarlet knew she loved him, as sure as she knew she loved Shaun. She needed him. Wanted him. Every fiber of her being cried against what was happening. _This is_ _my fault_ , she thought. _I never told him._

 

And then that regrettable, irrational part of her brain commandeered her will in one last-ditch effort. _If I tell him the truth, tell him how I really feel, it'll be alright. Everything will be fine. This will all go away, and you'll wake up, like it was just a bad dream._

 

“I love you, John.”

 

Hancock paused, but only just, before jamming the cork back into the bottle. He turned to face her now, looking her dead in the eye. His brow lowered, lying straight and unwavering over his face. “I don't love you.”

 

* * *

 

 

MacCready rapped gently at the door. He had watched her enter the hotel that morning, but hadn't seen her leave. And it looked like she was carrying her stuff with her, too. _Did they get into a fight?_ He wondered.

 

It was late in the evening now. Hancock had gone to the rail without her. MacCready had wanted to meet up with her for a number of reasons. He wanted to thank her for getting the passwords to Med-Tek, which Hancock had dutifully returned to him upon their arrival back at Goodneighbor. He also wanted to apologize. The only reason she had been captured in the first place was so the Gunners could get their hands on him. He didn't know what she had gone through, and he didn't want to know. The bruises on her face were hard enough to look at. But whatever she had endured, it had all been to save his sorry ass.

 

“Go away,” was her response. It was muffled, like she was talking into her pillow.

 

“It's me, Wolf. It's MacCready.”

 

“What do you want?” she barked.

 

MacCready could tell she was upset, but he persisted anyway. He had to talk to her, get everything off his chest, and try to make her feel better, if he could. “I just wanna talk,” he said. “I... I wanted to check in on you.”

 

There was a brief silence. Then the sound of footsteps against a wooden floor, and a heavy sigh. The doorknob rotated back and forth, then clicked, letting the door off the latch as it slowly creaked open. Instead of meeting him at the door, however, she scuffled back over to the bed and fell into it, burying herself face down in the mattress.

 

MacCready entered the room carefully, shutting the door behind him. She didn't lift her head, keeping it concealed. Her frizzy red hair was strewn about haphazardly, and she was wearing nothing but her red flannel and a pair of underwear. The mercenary swallowed hard, trying not to linger over the sight of her round bottom and supple legs.

 

There were two empty wine bottles on the bureau, he noted. The air was heavy with booze and cigarette smoke. She had been drinking alone, that much was obvious.

 

He took a seat, grabbing the chair next to her dresser and pulling it up to the bed. He knew she wasn't in the mood for talking, but that was okay with him. If she could at least listen to him, it would be enough.

 

But he had to ask. He had to know what had gotten her so upset. Whatever it was, he wanted to make it better. Wanted to soothe her, comfort her. After all, she had done the same for him.

 

“What's wrong, Wolf?” he asked, trying to be gentle.

 

“Nothing,” she said into the mattress. Then she turned her head toward the wall, keeping it concealed from the mercenary's eyes.

 

“Now I know it ain't nothin',” said MacCready. He desperately wanted to reach out for her in that moment, to rub his hand against her back. But he clenched his fist, resisting the urge.

 

“If you really have to know,” she said, sniffling, “Hancock kicked me out.”

 

MacCready was overcome with the sudden urge to kick in the State House door, find the ghoul, and wring his neck. He didn't think it possible for the mayor to be so cruel, least of all to someone like her. He was sure Hancock was sweet on her. The way they looked at each other, it was pretty undeniable.

 

“Why would he do something like that?” he asked genuinely, attempting to conceal his anger.

 

“I dunno,” she said to the wall. Her nose was plugged up from crying as she continued. “I thought he liked me. But I guess I was wrong.”

 

His heart broke for her then. She had clearly fallen for Hancock, but from what he concluded he didn't return the sentiment. The thought bothered him, probably more than it should have. If she had fallen for him, the ghoul should consider himself lucky to have a woman like her. What possible motive he had for pushing her away was anybody's guess.

 

“If it makes you feel any better,” he began, “if I had someone like you, I'd never dream of kicking you out.”

 

They didn't even sound like his words as he spoke them. But his heart beat faster as he uttered them; just thinking about her was like a shot of adrenaline, and he knew he meant what he said.

 

She rotated her head against the mattress, turning her face halfway towards him. Her glasses were off, one of her eyes shining between the locks of her hair, and she talked through one half of her mouth. “That's comforting,” she said, cracking at least one side of a smile.

 

MacCready fought against the blood rushing to his cheeks. “Anyway,” he said, clearing his throat, “I really wanted to say thank you. You know, for helping me find Duncan's cure.”

 

Maintaining her smile, she brushed the hair away from her face. Her eyelids were puffy, but her eyes sparkled just the same. “Of course,” she said. “Why wouldn't I help you?”

 

“Well,” he began, unsure of what to say. Helping people came naturally to her. It was a rarity out here, and he wasn't about to take it for granted. “Most people in the Commonwealth don't go out of their way to do somethin' like that. Not unless there's caps involved.”

 

“Don't even mention it,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “I was happy to do it.”

 

She turned more, revealing her face in its entirety. She was smiling broadly, her lips curving effortlessly with the roundness of her face. Her eyes, while red and swollen, shone like beacons, bringing him in closer. She was so beautiful he almost couldn't stand to look at her.

 

“I also wanted to say I was sorry,” he said, interrupting his own thoughts.

 

“Oh?” she said, frowning a little.

 

“I... what happened. With the Gunners. It was my fault.”

 

“It wasn't your fault,” she insisted, her face turning serious. “You didn't know it was gonna happen.”

 

“But they took you to get to me,” he said, sighing heavily. “I wish I would have just handed myself over, but Hancock-”

 

“-Shh,” she interrupted. “Let's not talk about him.”

 

It was apparent she was still a little tipsy, and tired on top of it. MacCready didn't want to make her uncomfortable, and thought it prudent to leave her alone just then. “Listen, if you want me to go-”

 

“Don't go,” she said softly, holding out her hand. He stared at it for a moment, then leaned in to grasp it in his own. Unconsciously, he began stroking it with his thumb. Her hand felt so right in his, and he didn't want to let go of it for all the world.

 

“Tell me about Duncan,” she said, her eyes pleading.

 

He fought the lump in his throat as he wrestled with his response. “I...” He didn't know where to begin. He wasn't used to talking about his family. But he wanted to tell her. If there was anyone he could open up to, it was her. “He's a good boy,” he forced out.

 

She smiled, her eyes urging him to continue.

 

“He always listened to his mother. Did what he was told. Didn't cause us any trouble.” He could feel an ache in the back of his eyes, signaling the onset of tears. But he soldiered on. “He always liked farming. Planting things, watching 'em grow. He's a quiet kid, but he's smart. He's gonna make a good family man someday.” MacCready paused, his mind drifting back home. He saw his son back on their farm, his golden hair blending into the fields of razorgrain. He ran his hands along the stalks, delighting in their simple silkiness against his hand. His green eyes were peaceful, centering, just like Lucy's had been.

 

“He looks just like his mother,” he said. He choked a little and a single tear flooded over his eyelid, dropping from the edge of his cheekbone to the floor.

 

“What happened to her?” she asked him, squeezing his hand.

 

“Ferals,” he said, fighting against his emotions. He thought of her, shoving their baby into his arms, then being overrun. She hadn't deserved to die like that. “It should have been me,” he whispered. Several more tears fell and he quickly wiped them away. He felt exposed as he revealed his inner self to her. He had never spoken like this to anyone. Ever. Then again, he'd never found someone he could trust like this, someone so open, so forgiving, so pure.

 

MacCready shook his head, trying to move onto something else. He couldn't talk about it anymore. “What about you?” he asked, sniffling once. “Tell me about your son, Shaun.”

 

“Oh, he doesn't really have much of a personality yet,” she said, rolling onto her side. She held tightly to MacCready's hand as she shifted, and he squeezed it reassuringly. “But he's kind of a brat, like his dad,” she said lightheartedly. “Even when I was carrying him, he was always doing whatever he could to get on my nerves. Kicking me in the ribs, keeping me up at night. And it was more of the same after he was born. He sucked my tits until they were bleeding!”

 

They laughed, her admission relieving some of the tension. “But he's a sweet little thing,” she said, more seriously. “He's a cuddler. He would always fall asleep while I was holding him. Didn't do it for his daddy, but he always did it for me.”

 

MacCready slid off his chair and knelt down by her bedside. Their hands were still locked together, and her eyes bored deep into his, piercing him to his core. He felt vulnerable under that gaze. Fragile, even. But he inherently trusted her, enough to let his guard down. Enough to let her worm her way inside his heart, making herself at home within its walls.

 

He placed his free hand tepidly against her cheek. She sighed, trembling a little under his touch. She seemed to melt beneath his fingertips, and he relished the feeling.

 

“Kiss me,” she said, her voice low and sensuous.

 

She didn't have to tell him twice. MacCready leaned in, nuzzling her nose with his before placing his lips tenderly against her waiting mouth. Her hand tightened around his and she inhaled sharply, sucking the breath from his lungs. His free hand slipped behind her head as he held her face to his. He ran his tongue over her bottom lip, tasting the fruity sweetness the wine had imparted upon them.

 

Letting go of his hand, she wrapped her arms around MacCready's neck, pulling him onto the bed. He rested on his hands and knees above her, bathing her in kisses as she pushed his duster off his shoulders. With their lips firmly together, he assisted her in removing it, tossing it to the floor before unbuttoning his shirt.

 

She mirrored him, unfastening the buttons of her red flannel until both their shirts were completely undone. They simultaneously shrugged them off, Scarlet lifting her torso off the bed long enough to squirm out of the garment. MacCready continued devouring her mouth as he ran his hand over her bare chest, his rough, calloused hands contrasting deliciously against her smooth skin. His caress traveled down the center of her stomach before working around to the small of her back.

 

He held her body to his, dragging his lips from her mouth to her chin and down her neck. He placed several, lingering kisses against her collarbone before working his way down to her breast, not stopping until his mouth found her pale, pink nipple. The skin hardened at the sensation of his warm mouth against it, pulling it taught against her full breast. He gently ran his teeth against it, and she quivered at the sensation, arching her back in a wordless plea for more.

 

MacCready complied, answering her request by circling the tip of his tongue around the rosy nub until she was practically squirming in his arms. She moaned deeply as he placed his mouth over her aureola, bathing it in warmth while flicking her nipple with his tongue.

 

Her arousal was growing by the second, evident by the moisture of her pussy penetrating his jeans as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He blazed a trail of kisses to her other breast, giving it the same treatment, as she leaned her head back against the mattress. Her eyes were shut tight, taking in the feeling of his tongue and teeth at her nipple.

 

After he had teased her, bringing her to the very edge, she opened her eyes and brought his face up in line with hers. He stared at her adoringly, brushing her hair aside, as she spoke to him. “I want you inside me.”

 

It was hardly a whisper, the request melting into a deep kiss that was searing in its intensity. MacCready began unbuttoning his pants, getting out of them as gingerly as he could while she slid off her underwear, revealing her completely to his voracious eyes.

 

She seemed to enjoy looking at him, as well. Her eyes traveled down, starting with his rugged jawline and ending at his throbbing erection before going back up again. She placed her palm against his chest, running it over the sparse hair and lean muscle, letting her fingertips trace every line of his body. MacCready bit his lip, the touch of her fingers fueling his desire, until he could bear it no longer.

 

He looked into her eyes as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He ran one of his hands along her thigh, bringing it to rest under her bottom as he lifted up her hips, readying them to meet his own. Then, gliding the tip of his erection over her labia, he lined it up with her opening and slipped inside, her wet center nearly devouring him completely.

 

Scarlet let out a slight gasp as he entered her and MacCready paused, buried up to the hilt, savoring the feeling of the tight walls of her pussy clenching around him. She smiled and sighed happily, giving him a look of encouragement before he continued, slowing pulling himself all the way out before re-invading her.

 

She took the full length of him ease, grinding against him, trying to take him deeper if she could. His head was already meeting a barrier at the entrance to her womb, but he continued his rhythm, taking her as deep as he could with each penetrating thrust.

 

MacCready sat up and pulled her with him, settling her on his lap without breaking their connection. She could feel every inch of him this way, grinding her hips and bearing down until he hit her sweet spot, making her nearly cry out in ecstasy. She grabbed him by the face and kissed him, muffling her moans against his open mouth.

 

He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her down onto his cock, impaling her until she almost went lifeless against him. Her head fell back, her exposed neck and chest met with his insatiable lips. She rode him vigorously, her breasts bouncing at each impact of his hips against hers. He quickened his pace. The sight of her alone was enough to bring him to the edge, but the warm grip of her pussy as it contracted around his shaft was unraveling him.

 

She could feel him twitching inside her, ready to burst at any moment. She was nearly there herself, her clitoris grinding against his groin, his cock filling her to the brim. Struggling to stay upright, she rode the wave of her orgasm as it crested over her, panting and moaning against his mouth while she came.

 

The sound of her moans pushed him to the point of no return. He held her body against his, and her womanhood seemed to suck him in even further as the pressure in his balls finally escaped, flooding her insides with his cum. He tossed his head back, moaning with each spasm of his cock as he unleashed every last drop of his seed into her yearning cunt.

 

The world seemed to stop around them as they held each other, panting from exertion and smiling with satisfaction. MacCready placed his lips on hers once more, drawing out every last bit of the feeling that he could as they slowly floated back down to earth.

 

They fell back on the bed together, a heady warmth overtaking them in the afterglow. MacCready couldn't get enough of being inside her and held her hips firmly as they lay down, lingering within her as long as possible.

 

She lay her head on his chest, his steady heartbeat nearly lulling her to sleep. For several blissful minutes, they said nothing, the only sound in the room being their deep, even breaths.

 

“Thank you for that,” she said, breaking the silence.

 

“No, thank you,” he said, grinning ear to ear.

 

She giggled softly, giving him a loving kiss against his chest.

 

“You know uh...” MacCready began, stretching his arm behind his head, “This is kind of awkward but... I never actually learned your first name.”

 

She laughed, beginning with a deep chuckle until it burst loudly from her chest.

 

He gave her an incredulous smirk, talking over her outburst. “Well it just doesn't feel right calling you 'Wolf' anymore. Not after that.”

 

“It's okay.” She rolled over to look at him, smiling so wide her face hurt. “You never told me your name, either.”

 

“I'm so sorry about that,” he said, feigning his remorse. “My names Robert Joseph.” He extended his arm over his chest and offered a handshake. “RJ for short.”

 

“Nice to meet you RJ,” she said playfully, grasping his hand. “I'm Scarlet.”

 

“Well Scarlet,” he said, barely containing his joy. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”


	14. Face to Face

“It's not like I'm expectin' her to forgive me,” said Hancock. He was deep into his cups at the Rail yet again. But this time, Daisy's sobering presence was nearby, keeping him in check. “But you shoulda seen the look in her eye. She _hated_ me.”

 

“Well of course she did, you broke her poor little heart. Ripped it up, threw it on the floor, and stomped on it like a spent cigarette.” Daisy took a hearty gulp of her beer. She wasn't much of a drinker, but seeing John like this was liable to drive her to it.

 

“What the hell was I supposed to do, huh?” Hancock went from slumping over to sitting up straight, raising his glass dramatically. “Get down on one knee? Whisk her off into the sunset? This is the fucking Commonwealth. This is fucking _Goodneighbor._ ” He took his liquor in one gulp and slammed the empty glass on the bar, the sound almost breaking the conversation in the entire bar.

 

“You didn't have to throw her out, John.”

 

Hancock shook his head. “You don't understand, Daisy. I've made a lot of enemies over the years. And that girl... if she's with me, then she's a target.” He grabbed the half-used jet container next to him and put it to his mouth, but Daisy snatched it away, stuffing it into her pocket. “Look, this ain't the first time someone tried to blackmail me, and it sure as shit won't be the last. But that's why I had to break it off with her. This is only gonna happen again. Better to end things now than have her wind up dead further down the road.”

 

“You don't think she might wind up dead 'cause you're not around?” she lectured him. “She doesn't know a Bloodbug from a Brahmin. You'll be eating those words when the Commonwealth gets its hooks in her.”

 

“Yeah, but that's the thing, Daisy, she doesn't need me at all. She doesn't need anyone.” Hancock stared off in to space, a look of admiration in his black eyes. “She got here from Sanctuary on her own power, even with a bullet in her back. She burned a super mutant alive. She was already free when I came to take her back from the Gunners. Still meanin' to ask how she pulled it off,” he mumbled briefly aside, “And the only reason we found her is cause she had the presence of mind to put a coded message in a fucking holotape while she was being held at gunpoint. She might not be conventional, but she's smart, and she's a killer. She doesn't need me or anyone.”

 

Daisy tried to suppress her laughter. John always had a dramatic flair, and the way he talked about Scarlet was no exception. “Seems like you think she's pretty great.”

 

“She _is_ great, she's fucking incredible!” he yelled, gesturing at Charlie to refill his glass. “God, and that body...”

 

“Yeah, I've seen it,” she said, rolling her eyes.

 

“You ain't seen it like _I've_ seen it, Daisy.” He grinned into his glass as he took another drink. “God damn...”

 

“So what's the problem then?”

 

“The problem is _me_. I'm no good.” He spoke tersely, lighting a cigarette. He hung his head over the bar, avoiding Daisy's questioning stare.

 

“You and everyone else in the Commonwealth. There isn't anybody in this godforsaken country who's any damn good.”

 

“Nah, not like that,” he said, shaking his head submissively. “It's not just the chems, or the booze, or my history with women, or even my fucking face. Even though my face is reason enough I don't deserve an angel like that.” He took a deep drag of his cigarette, holding the smoke in his lungs for a few seconds before sighing it out. “They took her because of me, Daisy. I'm the reason she almost got killed.”

 

“You should be blaming that sumbitch MacCready for starting this whole mess,” she asserted.

 

“If I hadn't gotten close to her, this never woulda happened,” he said, a sour grimace on his face. “It's because she was with me. Cause they thought they could use her to get to me. If I had just listened to my own advice and stayed away from her, she never would have had to go through that. I can try to blame MacCready all I want, but the fact is, without her in the picture, everything would've been fine. Hell, worst case scenario, it'd be my hide on the line. That I can handle. That, I'm used to. But I'm not willing to risk her life. Not again.”

 

“She _is_ alive though. You didn't let her die, did ya?”

 

“Yeah, but she went through some shit with those Gunners, Daisy.” His voice grew dark and his face hardened into a scowl. “Shit you can't just walk away from.”

 

Daisy nodded her understanding, but still wasn't convinced. “We all got shit we can't walk away from. That's life.”

 

“It doesn't have to be Scarlet's life, though. I'm not gonna let it.”

 

Daisy sighed, raising her beer bottle in a mock toast. “Well alright then, here's to being a miserable sack of shit for the rest of your life. And you're a ghoul, so trust me, it's never gonna end.”

 

Hancock chuckled acidly, letting the next few moments pass between them in silence. “It's alright. I deserve to be miserable. Doesn't mean she has to be.”

 

“God damn it, John, she is miserable. Claire tells me she's been upstairs at the Rexford cryin' all damn day. Only came out of her room for a drink before sneaking back up there.”

 

“She'll get over it,” he mumbled, his voice dripping with self-pity.

 

“No, she won't,” Daisy said flatly. “Because for reasons I don't pretend to understand, she loves your sorry ass.” Hancock said nothing, his eyes averting Daisy's as she went on. She was riled up now, and was taking on a parental tone that made him cringe. “And no, you don't deserve to be miserable. This life's all you got, and you deserve to be fuckin' happy. _She_ deserves to be fuckin' happy. And now all you got is two people that could be happy but for some stupid fucking reason decided not to.”

 

Daisy huffed, then chugged the rest of her beer. “For fuck's sake, Charlie, just get me a scotch,” she said. “I'm gonna need somethin' to bring _my_ mood back up.”

 

Hancock let her words sink in. She was right, he knew, but he couldn't ignore that her association with him was the reason she almost died. “I couldn't handle it, Daisy. I couldn't handle it if something happened to her.”

 

“Well then I guess you'll have to be with her 24 hours a day then, won't you? Never let her out of your sight. Sounds awful.”

 

Hancock smiled, the fire behind his eyes slowly sparkling back to life. “Damn it Daisy, you make a whole lotta sense, you know that?”

 

“I've been alive for more than 200 years,” she said, taking a drink and grimacing at the taste of it. “I might just know a thing or two.”

 

“Well what the hell am I sittin around here for, feeling sorry for myself?” he asked, his voice rising triumphantly. “I'm goin' over there right now! Gonna sweep that woman off her feet!” He stood up suddenly, then stumbled over his own feet and had to catch himself against the edge of the bar.

 

“Not like this, you're not,” said Daisy, smiling underneath her scolding. “You don't wanna show up drunk and raving like an idiot. Go home and sleep it off. She'll be there in the morning.”

 

“Ah, Daisy,” he sighed, giving her a swaying bow before he left. “You're my fucking northern star. What would I do without you?” He bounded up the steps before she could respond, then went back to the State House, practically floating down the streets of Goodneighbor.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Hancock was up bright and early the next morning. He knew Scarlet had a tendency to be a late sleeper, and he didn't want to wake her up too early and piss her off even more. He went out of his mind thinking of something to pass the time. He could get her a gift. He loved the way her face lit up when he gave her something she wanted. He remembered her reaction, though, when he had told her that he gave the Silver Shroud comic back to Kent. Maybe he could go get it back for her. Fuck it, if she wanted it, it was hers. Kent could rot in hell, for all he cared.

 

But every ghoul has his price, as it turns out. Kent was willing to part with it for a mere 50 caps. Worth it in Hancock's book. After harassing Kent, he went to see KLEO. Maybe she had a mod for Scarlet's laser pistol. But after a good hour spent browsing the assaultron's wares, he decided he didn't want to accidentally get the wrong thing. Maybe he would bring her here later.

 

At ten o'clock, Hancock finally decided it was late enough to drop in on Scarlet. He had been going over and over in his mind what he would say, rehearsing it to the nth degree. _I love you. I don't want to go on without you. I'm sorry. I love you._

 

He couldn't wait to say those words. When she had said them to him yesterday, he nearly died of heartbreak on the spot. It was like a psalm coming out of her mouth, and he was just another unworthy prophet who had been there to hear it.

 

He double checked his breast pocket; the Silver Shroud comic was still inside. Adjusting his hat and coat, he pushed open the double doors of the Hotel Rexford, an unabashed smile on his face.

 

Claire was working the front counter as usual, wiping it down. But her hand suddenly stopped when she saw the mayor walk in. She stared at him as he entered, approaching her with a bold and easy swagger.

 

“Which room is that little vault-dweller in?” he asked, leaning over the counter.

 

“I wouldn't go up there if I were you, Hancock,” she said, her eyes wide.

 

“Just tell me the room number, Claire,” he said, his tone serious. He wasn't about to let the old biddy keep him from her, and he didn't seem to care about the warning in her voice, either.

 

“She's in room three,” she said. Hancock turned on his heel and began walking up the stairs. “I'm tellin' you,” she called after him, “You don't wanna go up there.”

 

Hancock shook his head, his feet barely touching the steps as ascended them. His heart was almost bursting at the thought of seeing her, no matter how angry she might be at him. He would take whatever punishment she wanted to serve up with gratitude, his only thought being how elated he would be to be reunited with her.

 

Hancock's knuckles tapped the white door labeled “3.”

 

The initial response was complete silence. He put his ear to the door. _Maybe she was still asleep?_ He didn't hear her snoring, but heard the rustle of her bedsheets. He knocked again, a little more urgently this time.

 

“Who is it?” drifted Scarlet's voice from behind the door.

 

“It's John,” he said. He waited patiently, listening to her footsteps traipsing around the room.

 

“Can you come back later?” she asked.

 

“I've got something for ya,” he said, attempting to pique her interest. He knew she might take some convincing to open up for him, but he was willing to wait.

 

“I-I can't right now,” she said. She sounded as if she was scared of something. There was a lilt to her voice that unsettled him.

 

It only spurned him forward. “Listen, Scarlet, I really need to talk to you,” he said. “Just for a minute, please.” He almost begged her. He was dying to bare his soul to her. It had to come out, and it couldn't wait.

 

“Just give me a half an hour. I'm... not presentable,” she said. He could still hear her footsteps, and what sounded like her putting on her clothes.

 

But then he heard... was that another set of feet on the floor?

 

It couldn't be.

 

And the low whisper of someone else... a man's voice.

 

Hancock's teeth ground together and he knocked on the door, hard enough to rattle it this time. Jealousy lapped like waves of fire over his skin. Someone else was in her room. Someone else was in her bed. And he was going to find out who the fuck it was.

 

He raised his fist to knock again, ready to beat the door down if he had to, when it swung wide open. MacCready appeared, shirtless, his forearms taught against the door frame, staring Hancock boldly in the eye.

 

Hancock shouldn't have been surprised, but he was. He pushed his clenched fist against the wall, as if to stop it from hitting the mercenary in the face.

 

“Whatd'ya want, Hancock?” he asked, impatient with the mayor's presence.

 

The ghoul smiled, making no attempt to keep it a friendly one. “I just wanna talk to Wolfie for a minute,” he said. He could see Scarlet just over MacCready's shoulder, sitting on the edge of the bed and buttoning up her shirt. The mercenary shifted his shoulder, attempting to block his vision.

 

“She doesn't wanna talk to you,” he said, his ire obvious.

 

“She doesn't, huh?” he said, the raspy edge of his voice dropping lower into his chest. He tried to steal a look at Scarlet again, but the merc was quick to obstruct his view. “Well that's too bad, cause I wanna talk to her.”

 

“Ain't gonna happen, pal.”

 

Hancock stretched his neck. _Pal._ The way he said it made him want to put a shotgun shell in his smug face. He tried to retain his composure, ready to throw his weight around if necessary.

 

“I'm gonna get in there, whether you like it or not.” The ghoul glowered at him, squaring his shoulders. “In case you forgot, _pal_ ,” he sneered, “I'm the mayor of this fuckin' city.”

 

“I don't care if you're the King of the fuckin' Commonwealth. You ain't getting in. So do us all a favor and FUCK off!”

 

MacCready attempted to slam the door in Hancock's face, but the ghoul threw his body weight against the door, forcing it open. The two men wrestled against the door for a few moments, pushing back and forth with all their strength. Then the merc pulled his body away, and the momentum forced Hancock headfirst into the room.

 

Scarlet gasped as MacCready grabbed Hancock by the collar and hoisted him back out into the hallway, flinging his body against the banister and nearly sending him over the edge into the hotel lobby. MacCready ran forward, his fist aimed at the mayor's face. But Hancock ducked the blow, sending the mercenary spinning off balance. He took the advantage, pushing MacCready down the hallway to the top of the stairs.

 

The two men tousled, each attempting to throw the other down the steps. Everyone in the hotel looked on, simultaneously powerless to stop the brawl and curious to see who would come out on top.

 

“Take it outside!” yelled Claire, waving her arms and chasing after them.

 

They wouldn't take their hands off each other as they careened toward the door, the hotel staff holding it open as they burst onto the street.

 

Hancock was easy enough for MacCready to grab hold of, but the mercenary, not wearing a shirt, was more difficult to control. Hancock quickly found himself at a disadvantage and the mercenary hurled him against the hotel's outer wall, lifting him off his feet by his collar. “She doesn't wanna see you, you piece of shit!” growled MacCready through clenched teeth, his face inches from Hancock's.

 

The mayor headbutted the merc, his forehead slamming against the bridge of his nose. MacCready let go and reflexively put his hands to his face as his eyes teared up, and Hancock, regaining a foothold, lunged at MacCready fist first, throwing the weight of his entire body into the blow.

 

Deftly, the mercenary feigned to the side, sending Hancock's body skidding across the pavement.

 

Hancock was temporarily incapacitated by the impact, and MacCready wasted no time in grabbing him by the neck, whipping him down so that his back was flat on the concrete.

 

Hancock grunted at the sound of his own head hitting the pavement. He stared up at MacCready looming over him, his eyesight foggy from the blow to his skull. He nabbed the ghoul by his collar again, pulling him up until he was almost sitting, their faces almost touching.

 

“You asshole,” spat MacCready. His breaths were ragged, almost wheezing as he spoke. “I'm not gonna listen to her cry one more tear over your ugly ass.”

 

Hancock was powerless to stop MacCready's hand from smashing into his face. The merc let go of his collar, letting his limp body fall back against the pavement. But MacCready wasn't done. He straddled the ghoul's helpless body, sitting on his chest, before delivering blow after blow to his face.

 

Part of him felt vindicated in that moment. Hancock had nearly beaten his ass twice, but he had felt debilitated by the ghoul's social standing. Now he didn't care. He released every iota of pent-up anger on Hancock's face until his knuckles were coated in his blood.

 

“Stop!” yelled Scarlet. She ran from the hotel, pulling on one of her boots before running out into the street.

 

MacCready ignored her and continued his assault. Now that he had him down, he wasn't going to let the bastard go. He was blinded by his rage, and in all likelyhood wasn't in total control of his own actions. His body operated on autopilot, smashing Hancock's face into a pulp.

 

“I said stop!” Scarlet grabbed MacCready around the neck and pulled, attempting to hoist him off of Hancock's near-lifeless body.

 

The touch of her hand was slow to bring him back to reality, but it eventually did. MacCready stood up and stumbled backward, looking at what he had done.

 

To everyone's surprise, Hancock rolled stiffly to his side, spitting out a mouthful of blood before wiping it against his sleeve.

 

“What the fuck are you doing?” her voice rang out, carrying across the entire town. “You're acting like a couple of fucking children!”

 

The men offered no response, only bewildered stares and gaping mouths. Scarlet was red from anger, and she looked as if she was ready to throw a few punches herself.

 

“Hancock!” she growled, taking several paces toward his prostrate body. The ghoul pushed an elbow against the pavement, sitting up at her approach. His face was even more messed up than normal, having been pummeled repeatedly. He couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes as she stood before him, her voice choking with tears.

 

“You dumped me, remember?”

 

Hancock said nothing, only lowering his head in shame as she leaned in, yelling loud enough for the world to hear. “ _You_ dumped _me_. I don't owe you a god damned thing!”

 

MacCready was almost gleeful at the display, wiping the blood smugly from his nose. But Scarlet wasn't finished, and turn toward him with an icy glare.

 

“And you...” she said ominously, staggering toward him. “You've got a sick kid out there, remember?” She poked her finger in his chest for emphasis. She was half crying, half shouting, not sure herself exactly what to feel at this particular moment.

 

MacCready stood unmoving, waiting for her to finish what she had to say. He would have been insane to try to interrupt her right now.

 

“What the fuck are you still doing in this town?” Her shoulders slumped and her fists unclenched, her rage beginning to quell. But she remained stern, not breaking eye contact with the merc for even a moment. “Get out there, get his medicine, and then go back to him! Go be a fucking father to your son!”

 

MacCready's heart dropped into his stomach. She was right. He had been hanging around Goodneighbor, coming up with excuses to stay, when the truth was he was downright scared to go back to the Capital Wasteland. With Lucy gone, he felt lost, completely helpless to take charge and raise his family without her.

 

But he was out of excuses now. He had the key to Duncan's cure. It wouldn't take him long to get it. And once he had it, he would have to face his family again.

 

And Scarlet, as much as he cared for her, wasn't a part of that picture. She had her own demons to confront.

 

As silence claimed the open streets, Scarlet's nerves began to settle. She came back to a rational place in her mind, making sense of what had happened as she stared at the two bloody men before her.

 

 _What am I still doing in this town?_ She thought, suddenly overcome with guilt.

 

“I have to go find my baby,” she said aloud, her voice quiet, peaceful, yet decisive. “I have to go find Shaun.”


	15. A Promise

Hancock stood smoking on the State House balcony. He had resumed his distant sentry, watching the comings and goings of the people below. There wasn't anything else he could do, he figured. Once he had peeled his defeated body off the street, he stumbled back to the State House. He half-heartedly cleaned up his face and sucked down some jet, and considered just going to his room and hiding there until he figured out a way to block the shameful encounter from his memory.

 

But he still had some determination left. Before stomping angrily back into the hotel, Scarlet had seemed hell-bent on leaving. She said she was going to go find her son. It was what she had intended to do the minute she left the vault. The only thing holding her back was her own diffidence. But she had learned how to use a gun, learned about the hostilities out in the Commonwealth, and along with her armor and her growing encyclopedia of wasteland knowledge, she felt ready enough to leave the safety of Goodneighbor and resume her original mission.

 

Yet Hancock had made a promise to himself. A promise he wasn't going to go back on, no matter what Scarlet or MacCready or anyone else had to say about it. He would follow her. He would watch her back. He would protect her with his life. Wherever her journey brought her, he would be there with her, ready to help her however he could.

 

The familiar gait of the mercenary caught Hancock's eye and he leaned over the balcony. MacCready was fully dressed now and made his way to the Third Rail, looking down at his feet as he walked.

 

He sighed, wondering what he could possibly say to the man, or if he should say anything. MacCready would be leaving town soon, and he wasn't sure whether or not he would see him ever again. He didn't want to leave things the way they were. But it probably didn't matter. As much as he felt a sense of responsibility for what happened to the young man, MacCready was stubbornly independent, ruthless, and tenacious. He would make his own way. And the two would probably never cross paths in the future. Hancock could only hope that the mercenary had learned something from their time together. Even though his face was still raw from MacCready's relentless beating, he silently wished him the best, and hoped he could make his way safely back to his family.

 

Then Scarlet walked into the square. She was outfitted completely in her leather armor, a knapsack on her shoulders, her hair wound tightly into a bun on the top of her head. Her strides were powerful and long as she walked down the center of the street, garnering a few sideways looks from the people who had no doubt witnessed the confrontation earlier that day. He flicked his cigarette and followed her with his eyes. If she was leaving town, he would need to grab a few things before he left.

 

But her path detoured before she hit the town's front gate, taking her right to the State House door. Hancock's heart raced and he rushed back in, ready to meet her as she entered. _Is she here to see me?_ He wondered, feeling a slight shiver as he both dreaded and desired speaking to her.

 

Hancock raced down the stairs and met her as she climbed up. She stopped at the sight of him and looked up briefly as he hovered just a few steps above her. His breath sped up and he clutched the railing, frightened and exhilarated all at once at the sight of her. He didn't say anything. Couldn't find the words if he tried. He just stood there, almost dumbfounded, still embarrassed from the day's events.

 

Her glance was brief and she quickly looked to the side before continuing her march up the stairs. “Excuse me,” she said under her breath as she neared him.

 

Hancock held his breath as she slid past him, giving him no further regard as she exited the stairway and walked into the State House parlor.

 

His brow crinkled curiously. What was she doing here if she didn't want to talk to him? He followed her but maintained a healthy distance, waiting for her next move. She set her backpack on the couch and then began opening the drawers of a large display cabinet, rifling through its contents. She picked up a few items – chems, mostly – before moving onto his liquor cabinet. She opened and closed several drawers before pulling out a few bottles of vodka, then stuffed them in her pack.

 

Hancock watched her curiously, but didn't interrupt her. “I figured I deserved some severance pay,” she said, her eyes avoiding his as she went to another dresser and searched it.

 

He could see right through her thorny exterior and knew she was hurting. He remembered with an aching regret what he had said to her, that he had other women waiting for him, that he was done with her. How could she possibly believe she was just another one of his flings? Did she think that the time and caps he had spent on her were just part of some lurid exchange?

 

_Of course she does_. _I told her as much_. He shook a little where he stood; the floor suddenly felt like it might just fall out from underneath him. He couldn't let her believe that. She may not want to listen to him, though. She might not believe him, and he didn't blame her if she never trusted him again. But he felt like he had to say something, and searched the depths of his mind for the right words.

 

“Scarlet...” was all he could manage. It came out somewhat strangled in his throat.

 

She was picking caps from the coffee table when she heard it. It almost seemed to break her out of her trance just then as she paused and stood up, her ears pricking at the sound. But she quickly turned and put the caps in her backpack before zipping it up noisily, then threw it over her shoulder.

 

She headed back for the staircase, closing in on him. She finally looked at the ghoul, her eyes fiery, her lips pressed in a straight line. Before she went down the steps she stopped before him, her piercing stare holding him captive. “You gotta stop with that first name shit.” Her voice was low, and she struggled to keep it emotionless. “Wouldn't want people to get the wrong idea.”

 

She trudged down the steps, leaving Hancock wordlessly, helplessly standing there as she slammed the State House door behind her.

 

The ghoul ran to grab his shot gun. Then he snatched up his pack, throwing in a random assortment of whatever was nearby, and rushed after her.

 

Scarlet was heading for KLEO's stand. Hancock ran after her, hovering at her back as she approached the counter. “I need some fusion cells,” she said flatly. The assaultron turned and opened an ammo box on the shelf, removing several rounds before setting them on the counter in front of her.

 

Scarlet reached into her pocket and fished out some caps, but Hancock pushed his way beside her, dropping a handful of caps on the table without even bothering to count them.

 

Scarlet didn't seem phased by the gesture and shrugged her shoulders, picking up the fusion cells while KLEO slid the caps into her hand. “Thank you for your business,” her robotic voice echoed. Scarlet slid her pack from her shoulder and unzipped a side pocket, sliding the ammo inside.

 

“You can't go out there alone,” said Hancock, his voice desperate.

 

“Yes I can,” she said matter-of-factly. She took one of the fresh fusion cartridges she had purchased and slammed it into her pistol.

 

“You shouldn't be walking alone in downtown Boston without someone watching your back.” She ignored him, re-holstering her weapon and shouldering her backpack, then began striding urgently toward Goodneighbor's front gate.

 

“I can handle myself,” she said back at him.

 

Hancock trailed at her heels. She wasn't going to make this easy. “If you're leavin', then I'm comin' with you.”

 

“I don't need you to babysit me.”

 

She was almost to the door, her arm extended and groping for the knob. He was done asking nicely. Hancock clamped his hand around her upper arm and whirled her around to face him. She took a sharp breath, caught off-guard by the suddenness and firmness of his grip. Instinctively, she tried to pull her arm away, but he only tightened his hold, pulling her close.

 

“Now you listen to me,” he began. His voice was authoritative. She wasn't going to negotiate her way out of this.

 

“Let me go,” she mumbled, her eyes downcast. It looked like there were tears in them, but she blinked them away and leaned back against his pull.

 

“I said listen to me,” he nearly yelled. He gave her arm a final jerk and she froze. Her eyes darted up to his and her lips parted. She breathed deeply, almost fearfully, but slowly relaxed her arm as Hancock released it.

 

Scarlet made no attempt to move as he spoke. His eyes fixed resolutely on hers. “There's a lot more than super mutants and raiders out there that can kill ya,” he lectured, “and you barely even know where you're goin'. It's fucking dangerous out there, Wolfie. And even if you make it to Diamond City alive, what then? Where you gonna go from there?”

 

Scarlet bit her lip and shook her head, prying herself away from his gaze. “I don't now,” she said, barely a whisper. “But I'll figure it out.”

 

“You ever seen a Radscorpion, Wolfie? A Deathclaw? Huh?” He craned his head, trying to reclaim her gaze. “I know you wanna help your kid, but you ain't gonna be of any use to him if you're dead.”

 

Scarlet squeezed her eyes shut, suppressing the tears that threatened to flood them. Hancock sighed as he watched her head drop. He didn't like having to put it so bluntly, but she was too stubborn for him to be sugar-coating things.

 

“Look,” he began, “You may not know this, but I made a promise when I first met you.” He held her chin between his thumb and forefinger, guiding her eyes back up. “I told myself that wherever you went, wherever you happened to end up, I was gonna follow you. Watch your back. Keep you safe. And I intend to make good on that promise.”

 

Scarlet's lower lip trembled slightly in his hand. Her eyes were shiny with tears as he pierced her with his hard, black gaze. _God, how I want to kiss her right now._

 

In that brief silence, while he still held her attention, he seized the opportunity to at least try to speak some of the words he had been dying to say. “I'm sorry about-”

 

“-I don't wanna hear it.” Scarlet ripped her face away from his hand but kept her eyes locked on him. Her brows lowered into a scowl and her jaw clenched.

 

“I know I fucked up,” he said. “And if you're not ready to listen to me, that's fine. But if you're leaving Goodneighbor, I'm comin' with you.”

 

“Like hell you are!” she growled, balling her hands into white-knuckled fists.

 

“I'm comin' with you whether you like it or not!” he shouted back, meeting her own level of frustration.

 

“You try to follow me and I'll shoot you in the god damn face!”

 

“Well you better not miss, cause that's the only way I'm not comin' after you!”

 

 Scarlet drew her pistol and took a long step back before pointing its nose between his jet black eyes. Her mouth was hanging open, and heaving pants of rage racked her lungs. Her eyes were unblinking, even as they each expelled a heavy tear.

 

Hancock didn't flinch, his expression was immobile. She was pissed, but he knew she wasn't going to pull the trigger. _I'm pretty sure..._ He couldn't remember the last time he had seen such primal anger. It reminded him of the look on her face when she smashed her Pip-Boy into Winlock's dead face.

 

She stepped forward, nearly pressing the barrel of the gun into his forehead. Then she leaned in close to his face, her body pulsing with tremors of raw hatred, and her lips curled around a hard grimace. “Just makes sure you keep your distance, _ghoul._ ”


	16. A Civilization Gone

It was already getting dark, and they weren't close enough to make it to Diamond City before nightfall. He wished she had stayed in Goodneighbor one more night and left first thing in the morning, but she had made up her mind to leave on the spot, and there was no changing it.

 

Scarlet had memorized the way to Trinity Tower and followed the same path they had taken there, remembering it was a halfway point. Every now and then she would look behind her and glare at Hancock, making sure he was far enough away from her. Initially he had attempted to walk just a few paces behind her, but she kept insisting he was too close. She didn't want to talk to him, and kept barking at him to stay back until he lagged about half a block behind.

 

She was secretly grateful for his assistance. The thought of navigating the Commonwealth on her own was terrifying to the point of being paralytic. But whether it was a maternal instinct or just a dogged willfulness, she had made her decision. She had to find Shaun, and she was done wasting time.

 

They had only just passed the tower when twilight cast its somber glow over the ruins. After studying her Pip-Boy's map, she continued walking due west. The city was located in the old baseball stadium, that much she was sure of. But the road ahead was uneven, blocked by various hazards and forced into unexpected detours. It wasn't as simple as following a straight path.

 

“It's getting dark,” said Hancock. He had been careful not to say a word the whole time, and she was grateful for it. She wanted to forget he was even there.

 

“I can see that,” was her scathing reply. She stopped walking and began scanning the environment.

 

“We can't walk through Downtown Boston at night. We need to find a place to bunk down.”

 

He was right, she loathed to admit. Even though she was bursting with energy and purpose and could have kept walking all night, making their way through the ruins in the darkness would be nearly impossible and dangerous to boot, especially without any street lights to illuminate their path.

 

She meandered across the street, studying the crumbling facades of old buildings. Picking one to shelter in would be little more than a roll of the dice; she had no clue what would constitute a safe dwelling. It all looked much the same to her.

 

“There are some apartments down the road. Should be a safe place to lay low,” said Hancock, doing his best not to sound pushy.

 

“Lead the way.” She felt like she was showing weakness by allowing him to call the shots, but he knew the ins and outs of these ruins far better than she. She was proud, but not stupid, and didn't want to risk sleeping somewhere hazardous for the sake of saving face.

 

They kept going another block or so until they reached a large brick tenement building. Hancock seemed confident, swinging the front door open and bounding lightly up the staircase. She followed him but drew her pistol, wary of an ambush or unexpected creature to be waiting in the dim hallway.

 

They didn't stop until they reached the top floor. Scarlet assumed it was wise, and likely safer the farther up they went, but she cursed her own lack of stamina as she trudged behind Hancock, huffing and puffing. He selected a unit in the center of the building, attempting to avoid too many windows. His shotgun was raised as he poked through the door but he seemed satisfied with the room's apparent safety, holstering his weapon after only a brief scan of his surroundings.

 

Scarlet was a little more hesitant, keeping her pistol at her side but nevertheless in a sturdy grip as she explored the vacant apartment. Her eyes had adjusted to the fading light, but it was still too dark to discern any detail. She flipped on the flashlight of her Pip-Boy, creating a neon green orb around her.

 

Neither spoke as Hancock made his way down the hall, poking his head through every doorway. Meanwhile, Scarlet went to the kitchen and looked things over, opening the fridge, cupboards, and checking the plumbing. Miraculously, there was a bottle of cooking sherry above the sink, as well as an aged tin of potted meat. But it was otherwise completely picked over. The only objects remaining were pieces of broken furniture and cracked light fixtures.

 

“Seems clear,” said Hancock tersely, emerging from the back bedroom. It was getting more difficult to see by the second, and he was scolding himself for not packing more thoughtfully. Then again, he hadn't had a lot of time in which to do it.

 

But Scarlet had obviously thought ahead. She removed her backpack and took out a small lantern, then set it on an end table before lighting it. _With the lighter I gave her_ , Hancock noticed.

 

She said nothing as she plopped down on the tattered sofa, laying the bottle of sherry and potted meat on the coffee table in front of her. Looking for something to occupy herself, she lit a cigarette. She was doing her best to ignore Hancock, but it was getting awkward. The silence was shockingly complete for being in the middle of downtown Boston, ruins or not. Scarlet found herself longing for the simplicity of chirping crickets or humming engines, anything to break up the stillness.

 

Hancock respectfully avoided looking at her as he took a seat in the armchair across from her. He took a look through his pack, trying to figure out exactly what he had brought with him. Lots of chems, lots of booze, some food, some ammo... he quickly bored himself of taking inventory and sat back, igniting a cigarette.

 

“I know you don't wanna talk, but maybe while you're sitting there you can listen.” His voice almost made her jump. The weirdness of the growing silence had finally gotten to be too much for him, especially when he was dying inside from her constant scorn. He had to try saying something, at least for his own sanity.

 

“Not like I have much choice,” she said, popping open the bottle of cooking sherry. She took a drink and, after making a face, handed it cordially to Hancock.

 

“Thanks,” he said, taking a gulp. “I wanted to tell you...” He paused briefly, searching for the right words. There were none, but he wanted to be careful anyway. _Not like I can make things any worse,_ he thought.

 

“When I came to see you this morning, I was comin' to tell you I was sorry.” Scarlet attempted to look indifferent, removing her laser pistol and inspecting it as he spoke. “The reason I ended things with you wasn't because of anything you did, or because of someone else, or anything like that. Honestly, I didn't want to.” Scarlet interjected with a short 'hmph,' but let him continue. “But I felt guilty about what happened, with the Gunners I mean. It was my fault they nabbed you, thought if they got you, they could get to me. And they were right, too. I was fuckin' scared when I found out you were gone. I didn't know what they were gonna do to ya, but I knew that if something bad happened, it would be my fault.”

 

“How was any of it your fault?” she asked, simultaneously sympathetic and attempting to stay angry. _It wasn't his fault, after all. It was mine. I went off with a stranger, like an idiot._

 

“Because being close to me is what made you a target,” he sighed. “I figured if you had nothing to do with me, you'd be a lot better off. Safer.”

 

“As opposed to being alone?” Her voice dripped with accusation, as if anything would be more dangerous than him totally abandoning her. She still felt helpless in this world, and Hancock severing ties with her only deepened her insecurity.

 

“There's a lot of people out there who would like to stick it to the mayor of Goodneighbor, for one reason or another. I've been around a long time, done a lot of stupid shit, and killing people ain't a great way to make friends, either.” He shifted slightly in his chair, his eyes on the floor.

 

“So why did you insist on following me, then?”

 

She looked at him directly now, her blue eyes flickering with intensity in the lamplight. He cautiously met her gaze, then put out his cigarette and folded his hands in his lap. “Daisy talked some sense into me last night. Said I wasn't doing either of us any favors. I figured she was right.”

 

Scarlet didn't respond. She set her pistol on the table and took another drink before crossing her arms. She just stared him down, conveying to him all the hurt and anger she could manage in a single look.

 

Hancock reached inside his coat and drew out the Silver Shroud comic he had reacquired from Kent. “I was gonna give this to you.” He reached across the table and offered it to Scarlet. _Are my hands shaking?_

 

She took it by the edges carefully, bringing it to her face so she could read it in the dimness. Her fingertips glossed over the cover. Despite Hancock's altercation with MacCready that day, it was still unbent and in perfect shape.

 

He thought he saw tears in her eyes. As she finished examining the comic and looked back up to him, he could tell there were. But her face was tightened in an indignant scowl, and the tears that fell were full of resent. She slammed it on the table in front of her and stood up, fists clenched at her sides. “What the fuck is this supposed to mean?”

 

Hancock stared at her with his mouth open, almost cowering in his chair. He thought she would have been happy to have it back, but it only seemed to irk her more. “I... thought you wanted it.”

 

“You say you're gonna help me out. You buy me all these gifts. You bring me to your bed. Then you tell me you don't wanna see me anymore. You kick me out of town. Then you follow me out, and now you're buying me more shit?” She was hot and practically boiling through the soles of her boots as she paced in front of him. “Why can't you just be straight with me?”

 

“You want me to be straight with you?” Hancock rose from his chair sharply, knocking it back. He pulled her out of her paces and seized her by the shoulders, boring into her with his black eyes. His face was hard, serious, unwavering. He was finished tiptoeing around her. He had to tell her.

 

“I love you,” he said. Scarlet's tightened jaw slowly fell open, and her scowling eyes widened. One more tear made its way out before her breath caught, interrupting her angry sobs. “I love you, Scarlet,” he said again, holding her so tightly he was almost bruising her. “In spite of you, and me, and the whole fucking world in pieces around us, I love you. I love you more than I've ever loved anyone in my life, and if I live a thousand more years I'll die still loving you.”

 

Hancock waited for her to say something. He didn't know what else to tell her. He had just spilled his heart out, and his admission hung in the air like a heavy fog. Her expression gave away none of the thoughts that were racing through her mind, and her face was stuck in a tangle of confusion and surprise.

 

But then her eyes softened under her relaxing brow. The corners of her mouth went up almost imperceptibly, and her voice was an excited whisper in her throat.

 

“Say it again.”

 

The sound was like a chorus of angels, and Hancock's heart soared. He wanted to laugh and cry all at once as his hands released from her shoulders and slid gently around her back. She stood still as he leaned in, pressing his forehead against hers and inhaling deeply. _Strawberries_.

 

“I love you,” he whispered. The words were warm and balmy against her mouth. She slipped her hands under his arms and hooked them around his shoulders, nuzzling her forehead against his. He released one of his arms from around her back and brought it to her face, running his index finger along her jaw until it settled beneath her chin. Then he pulled his face away from hers, raising her mouth up just enough to meet his. His eyes swept over her face briefly, savoring the sight of it, before he moved in, claiming the entirety of her mouth in one sensuous sweep of his lips.

 

It was like an electric current passing to her from his mouth, and it cascaded through her, coiling down her spine and pulsing into the very tips of her toes. The shock nearly pulled her feet out from beneath her, and she fell against him, hanging onto his shoulders as he caught her around the waist.

 

Scarlet was practically disintegrating in his arms. For his part, he was struggling to hold onto reality while holding onto her. He tentatively probed her mouth with his tongue, lest she completely lose consciousness from the sensation. The way she melted against him set his blood on fire, creating a high that took him to the very threshold of his own senses. He wanted to hold onto it for as long as he could.

 

Hancock could feel her slipping away from him and he bent down, swinging an arm underneath her legs and pulling her up to carry her without severing the connection of their eager mouths. She gripped the edges of his red overcoat and pulled, as if the touch of his lips were the only thing sustaining her in that moment. While keeping her shoulders supported, he stooped down and hooked the lantern over the end of his finger before strolling down the hall to the bedroom, Scarlet's body nearly lifeless in his arms.

 

He laid her on the bed and knelt beside her, finally pulling his mouth away. She whimpered slightly as he did and held fast to his coat, lamenting the escape of his smoky breath from her lungs. But his hands never left her body, running over her arms and untying the straps of her armor before ripping the pieces off and casting them to the floor. She sat up and allowed him access to the chest piece; his teeth grazed her neck as he reached around her waist, expertly removing the garment as she snaked her fingers beneath the fabric of his coat, attempting to peel it off his shoulders.

 

They worked to undress each other, Scarlet sighing at each press of his lips upon every newly exposed piece of skin. He sucked in just a little at each point of contact with her milky flesh, and she shivered with delight.

 

Once every bit of her clothing had finally been done away with, Hancock guided her back against the bed, devouring her bright red lips once more. He could have stayed like that all night. The taste of her was sweeter and more intoxicating than a bottle of honey wine. And she draped her arms around his neck, keeping him against her, consuming as much of him as she could manage. At some length, though, he raised his head away from her, and she captured his bottom lip between her teeth as he slowly pulled away.

 

Hancock stood, removing his undershirt and pants before stepping back and marveling at the sight before him. He almost forgot to breathe as he raked his eyes over her bare flesh. She had removed her glasses and let her hair out of its bindings, and the bright red locks framed her head like a halo. Her sumptuous breasts rose and fell with each longing breath, and her pink nipples were standing firmly at attention against the pale surface of her skin. One arm was draped over the inner curve of her waist, which flowed outward to her bountiful hips. The line of her body was like a meandering river, flowing gently over her thighs and calves and ending gracefully at her slim ankles.

 

Scarlet leaned her head back against the mattress and smiled as he revealed himself, absorbing the sight of him in his entirety, marveling at the size of his erection as it swelled and stood up against his body.

 

“The things I wanna do to you...” he said, low and longing.

 

Scarlet sighed and closed her eyes in peaceful surrender, then he climbed over her, poised on all fours as he swept his tongue along her lips. She opened her mouth for him and wrapped her tongue around his, enjoying the spiced sweetness of his breath mingling with hers.

 

Once he had culled the pleasures of her mouth to his satisfaction, he turned his attention to her neck, placing gentle kisses along her throat and feeling the hitching of her breath through his lips. He began his descent along the center of her body, pausing at the base of her neck and bathing it with his tongue before covering it with his mouth. His hot breath against the moist skin was enough to make her arch her back, and she exhaled a quiet moan, running her fingertips along his shoulders as he moved on. His mouth followed a straight path down the center of her stomach while his hands stroked her sides, running his thumbs briefly over her erect nipples as he followed the curve of her waist and hips.

 

Scarlet bit her lip as he settled between her legs and wrapped his arms around the joints of her hips. His breath pulsed against her inner thighs like a second heartbeat, and she squirmed at every smack of his lips upon the sensitive skin. The tension was almost too much and she mewled plaintively, begging him to go further. He smiled to himself as he teased her outer lips with the tip of his tongue and surrounded her opening with warm, wet kisses. Then, pressing his tongue flat against her pussy, he closed his lips around her throbbing clit and pressed the warm bud gently between them.

 

She almost lost control of her body as the feeling of his mouth against her clit tingled its way into her core. He loosened his hands from around her thighs and reached up, glossing over her nipples with the tips of his fingers. He could feel her pussy throbbing against his face as he cupped a breast in each hand, teasing and pinching at her pleasure points.

 

Her breaths were slow but sharp, and she sucked in air in time with the rhythm of his tongue circling her sweet spot. Every point of contact he placed upon her body compounded until she was writhing against him. She clutched the sheet beneath her and panted his name, trying to stay as quiet as possible but finding it increasingly difficult as she neared the precipice of her desire.

 

He could feel her entire pelvis contracting against him and knew she was getting close. He stopped the motion of his tongue and fingers momentarily. The suddenness of his withdrawal nearly drove her insane until he buried his tongue hungrily into her center with renewed vigor, then he took her nipples firmly between his thumb and forefinger and tugged them up and away from her body.

 

She cried out unabashedly as her orgasm exploded from her center. Hancock could feel the walls of her pussy pulling at his tongue, and he was coaxed even further in as she hooked her legs around his head and held him fast to her. She rocked her hips with each swell, indulging in each consecutive pulse of pleasure until the feeling finally began to ebb.

 

Her moans turned to sighs of satisfaction as she released Hancock from the grip of her legs, allowing him to come up for air. As her body recovered from the force of her climax, he placed a palm against her naval and ushered her to relax. He began rubbing his lips and tongue on her inner thighs again, spreading the sweet nectar he had collected over her skin.

 

As her breaths became more even, he renewed his task of pleasuring her with his mouth. He could have done it thrice over were it not for Scarlet interrupting his reverie.

 

“John...” She tugged at his arms, beckoning him upwards.

 

He compliantly brought his face to hers and placed several slow kisses against her cheeks and chin. Then his mouth floated back to hers and he lingered on her lips before looking into her eyes. “What is it, Sunshine?”

 

The way she looked up at him then, so adoring, so wanton, made Hancock's heart flutter rapidly against his ribcage. He could only just see the freckles on her nose in the scarce lamplight, but her eyes seemed bluer than ever and appeared to be back-lit by her desire. He would have given her anything in that moment, but he knew what she wanted, and he was only too happy to oblige her.

 

“Make love to me.”

 

She almost begged those words as they flowed thirstily from her flushed lips. Hearing the request aloud made him shudder as he held her to him, and a hot pulse flowed through his body and swelled into the head of his rigid member. He kissed her so deeply that he lost all sense of his own body, and he felt like he had completely melded with her.

 

Scarlet opened her legs and he positioned himself between them. He broke the kiss and pressed his forehead against hers, looking her intently in the eyes as he ran a hand along her hip and thigh. For a few seconds the head of his cock rested against her opening. He shifted slightly, letting her wetness spread over it. She wrapped her hands around his back and pressed her fingertips into his skin, urging him to continue.

 

All he had to do was angle his hips, and he let out a moan as his cock slid effortlessly into her. He tried to restrain himself from going all the way in, but her womanhood engulfed him entirely as her hips rose to meet his. She gasped initially, the girth of him stretching the walls of her pussy to their limit. Then she craned her head back, allowing the sensation of his full erection inside of her to overwhelm her senses.

 

Hancock didn't move for a few moments. He had almost released himself then, but he was determined to hold off as long as he could. Feeling her warmth surrounding him was like standing at the edge of heaven. He wanted it to last, wanted to savor every moment. He had lost himself entirely to this woman, and she was giving herself up to him without hesitation. It was something he had never thought possible, and he held onto the moment with voracious intensity.

 

He swept a hand through her hair and laid it to rest around her face as he began inching out of her. Scarlet bit her lip and gazed into his eyes, then dug her nails into his back as he slid into her once more, not stopping until his balls reached her dripping labia. She let out a sharp cry and her brow lowered coarsely as if she were in pain. Hancock withdrew slightly and ran his thumb over her cheek, suddenly afraid that he had hurt her. But her expression softened and she smiled devilishly, pushing her hips back against his as her head fell back, sucking a breath of air through her teeth.

 

The two of them moved in unison as Hancock slid his cock languidly in and out of her. Their eyes were fixed on each other, searching, attempting to read each others' needs as they worked their way toward a coinciding state of bliss. The tension inside of him was building and begging to be released, but he wanted to see her coming again, wanted to feel her clenching around his swollen shaft, but it was getting difficult to control his own body, and the fact that she was meeting his every thrust with such intensity was making it almost impossible to suppress his desire.

 

He raised her right leg over his shoulder, allowing him to penetrate even deeper. Her nails released from his back and her arms fell behind her head. She groped for the bars of the bed frame, her face becoming washed over with the rapturous sensation of his cock thrusting in and out. She moaned deeply and sighed his name, the pinnacle of her lust beginning to overtake her.

 

Hancock leaned forward and pressed his chest to hers, forcing her leg behind her head. He was so deep within her now that he could see the bulge of his cock through her stomach. She latched onto his biceps and bore down, crying out and trembling beneath the weight of his body as she came.

 

The sight of her undid him then, and he gave himself up to his own release. They both managed to keep their eyes open and locked on each other as her pussy throbbed wildly around his shaft, and he groaned as he shot his cum deep within her, filling her insides with his seed.

 

His mind exploded with a shower of stars. Each jet of cum expending from his cock seemed to be timed perfectly with each rippling contraction of her pussy until he was absolutely spent. The furious motion of Scarlet's hips began to slow, then stop, and her prostrate body seemed to collapse even further into the mattress as her orgasm subsided.

 

Hancock's head fell into the hollow of her shoulder. He nuzzled against her neck as he tried to catch his breath, and unable to help himself, extended his tongue along her skin once more, enjoying the light saltiness of her sweat.

 

His cock was still stiff inside her, and he felt like he could immediately take her again. But the sound of a distant gunshot from somewhere in the ruins was a harsh reminder of their reality, and he slid out of her, pulling along a stream of their mingled fluids along with him.

 

Scarlet whimpered a little as he left her, feeling the emptiness of his retreat. “We should probably get some shut-eye,” he said, then gave her a tender kiss. She nodded against his lips and let out a lamenting sigh as he pushed himself from above her and rolled to her side. He extended an arm, inviting her to lay her head against his chest.

 

As she nestled in he ran his hand through her hair, then placed his lips against her forehead. He relished each steady exhalation of her warm breath against his skin as she silently drifted off. Attempting to follow her into slumber, he closed his eyes, but his heartbeat was still drumming wildly within him. He could scarcely believe that she was there, her naked body flushed and practically simmering against his own. He drew a blanket over their hips and wondered how, against everything that had been thrown at them, it was possible that they had wound up out here together.

 

_Moments like this, I know all that Karma stuff is bull, because no one like me should ever be this lucky._

 

* * *

 

 

They were both stirring at the first blue light of dawn creeping its way into the bedroom. Hancock watched her eyes pushing beneath her shut lids as he wound his hand around her waist, pulling her close. He was apprehensive just then; what would her reaction be when she opened her eyes, seeing his disfigured face in the light of day?

 

But as her eyelashes fluttered against her cheek and she met his gaze, she grinned broadly and leaned in to kiss him, as if his face was the most wonderful sight she could have possibly woken up to.

 

“Good morning, Sunshine,” he said. His voice was soothing and heady, winding her up all over again. Hancock ran his palm down her spine and she unconsciously quivered against him, pushing her hips into his. Her thighs were still moistened with the remnants of last night's exertion, and his cock began to fill and nestle between them, throbbing against her warm, wet folds.

 

But he made no attempt to penetrate her further, only holding her closer and bathing her with unhurried kisses. After some minutes, though, they broke apart, their eyes filled with longing but a mutual understanding. They were still in the ruins of downtown Boston. Though nothing had happened upon them during the night, they were tempting fate by lingering here. Grudgingly, the two sat up, Hancock stretching his arms behind his head, and Scarlet reaching for her glasses.

 

They wordlessly began getting dressed. Scarlet smiled shyly at him as she peeked out of the corner of her eye, admiring the tension of his muscular torso as he pulled on his shirt.

 

But as she buttoned up her flannel and snapped her Pip-Boy to her wrist, a wave of insecurity washed over her. He had sounded sincere the night before, and the reverent look in his eyes as he made love to her had taken her to the moon and back. But the rational side of her was racked with doubt. She had followed this path before, placing her trust in him completely, only to end up broken-hearted and decimated by his rejection. Yet he had left his town and its people behind him to go after her without a second thought. And he had said that he loved her. But she still felt like she couldn't read him, not after he had pushed her away before.

 

Hancock noticed the shift in her expression. He finished tying off the flag around his waist and knelt in front of her as she sat on the bed, securing the armor on her shoulder. “What's wrong, Sunshine?”

 

Her eyes sparkled with tears and her lower lip trembled slightly. Her gaze was anxious and her brows drawn together almost fearfully. “You're not going to leave me, are you?”

 

Hancock's heart shattered like glass inside of him as he reached for her face. She leaned into his palm and closed her eyes, squeezing a tear from beneath her lashes. “Hey, hey, listen to me.” He touched his forehead to hers as she sniffled. “There ain't nothin' in this world that'd ever convince me to leave you, ever again.”

 

Her breath vibrated with quickening sobs as she looked into his eyes. She tried to calm herself but was crippled by the intensity of her own reticence. Her hand slid over his and she nodded in affirmation, but the tears kept pouring out over her cheeks. She wanted to believe him, truly. And deep within her she knew he was telling the truth. She cursed herself for her own child-like weakness. Even if he did leave her, she could go on. She would have to, for Shaun. But she needed him more than she had ever needed anyone, and loved him as if her life depended on it. She couldn't bear the thought of him abandoning her again.

 

Hancock withdrew his hand from her face and stood up. He felt utterly helpless to console her. He knew very well that he had betrayed her trust before, and it was only natural that she was hesitant to give it to him again. He glanced around the room, hands on his hips, furious at himself for ever pushing her away. Above anything else, he wanted her to feel safe. There had to be something he could do to quell her doubts, to prove that he wasn't going to make the same mistake twice.

 

The handle of his knife bulged against his hand. His brow crinkled thoughtfully and he removed the blade from his waist. With his other hand, he tugged at the hanging end of the flag at his hips. In one swift motion he severed a long strap of the fraying cloth with his blade, then tucked the knife back into his belt.

 

He knelt down again, grabbing Scarlet by the arm. He motioned for her to hold it out as he tied the red and blue fabric around her wrist, securing it tightly just underneath her Pip-Boy. “Consider this a promise,” he said. He finished tying it off and held her hand firmly in his.

 

Scarlet's breathing evened out and she looked at him. His black eyes shone with resolution and he placed a confident hand upon her shoulder. “No matter what happens,” he continued, “If we get separated, or torn apart, I will always come after you. You got that?”

 

She beamed at him, her eyes full of adoration as she smiled. Hancock pulled her head against his shoulder and clung to her, covetously wrapping his arm around her waist. He meant what he said, and she seemed to believe him. He still felt like he had a ways to go to prove himself to her, but he swore inwardly that he would do whatever it took.

 

They finished getting ready in a contended silence. After Scarlet had secured the rest of her armor and he had packed everything up, he held out his hand to her, beckoning her to follow. She slid her palm into his and grasped it firmly as they left the abandoned tenement building and stepped out into the streets, the bright morning sun shining against their backs. Then, hand in hand, they set off into the ruins, ready to make their way to Diamond City.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Don't forget to check out part 2, now complete.

**Author's Note:**

> https://tarafirmafic.tumblr.com/
> 
> 18+ NSFW


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